Mirela:Under the Gypsy Sky::Lily: Under a Dark Sky
by iamphantomgirl
Summary: Sequel to Under the French Sky: Erik remains nervous and excited about his impending marriage, exasperated by his sister, and is going back to Paris while nosy Lily looks through the Opera House with her betrothed. What will they find in the Ghost's Home?
1. The Bed

These characters are mine, except Erik who belongs solely to Gaston Leroux and Andrew Lloyd Webber. But I do have a special edition DVD that...sigh...is all mine.

I recommend reading _Under the French Sky_ before trying to make sense of this madness. These side stories will hopefully not be very long, and I intend to do three of them. One for Mirela, one for Lily, and one for Jackson. Wish me luck! And happy reviewing!

- -

_Under the Gypsy Sun_

_July 1871_

_Paris, France_

_- - _

Rand decided after one month that being in love was a pain. First, his love – Mirela – lived in Paris. Second, he had two teenagers living under his roof that did not allow for him to romance his love, and a farm that required more attention than he wanted to give. He missed her. After only knowing her for one week, he knew he was in love, and he had to see her again.

After Erik and Susanna cleared up matters with the Prefect in Guinevere Allard's death, Erik moved into the home that he had built in memory of his mother. So near it was to Susanna and Henri's cottage, he was able to see Elisabeth and Daniel every day, and assume the role of soon to be father. And in his astounding new confidence in himself, he offered to let Eli and Daniel stay with him while Susanna took Rachel and Elisabeth, giving Rand time to travel to Paris, just once to see Mirela.

Of course things did not go as planned, and Erik ended up with both boys while Rachel clung to him tenaciously all the way to Paris. As terrifying as it was to leave her home, she absolutely would not let him leave without her.

Eli would tend to the farm during his brief stay, and he prayed that he was leaving it in capable hands.

"Uncle Rand, do you think she wants to see us?" Rachel asked worriedly as the carriage drew to a halt in front of a massive stone house.

"Why certainly," Rand said, flashing her a smile. Though plagued with doubt at the same time. He had not given Mirela notice that he would be arriving. And likely it was going to come as a shock. But he was taking a chance that what they had shared in Artenay was real.

Unless Guin had bashed him over the head harder than he thought, he was almost certain that it was real. He loved her. Hopefully she loved him.

"Why did she leave without saying goodbye?" Rachel asked, for the thousandth time. "She didn't even let me know she was leaving."

"Rachel, she was frightened. And there are things that she cannot speak about, just as there are things you cannot speak about," Rand said gently. "But she did care about us. Mirela has a great heart. Just like you."

"And you," Rachel said softly.

Rand opened the door of the carriage and helped his niece out. "Then let's go see her, and find out precisely what she has been doing the past month."

They walked up the steps and Rand rapped on the door lightly, looking down at Rachel and blowing air out through his teeth in anticipation. He could not wait to see her dark eyes light up...and hopefully they would. It was like a pain in his stomach when the door opened to a dour faced woman, who stared at him, then at Rachel with disgust.

"Go away."

"I beg your pardon?" Rand gaped at her. "I am here to see Madame Purram. Is she available."

"No. Now off with you," she scowled.

"Does she live here?" Rand asked persistently, trying to see beyond the doors. "Mirela? _Mirela?"_

He called her name, and louder when the woman tried to push against his chest. "Monsieur, you must leave," she demanded, her eyes growing anxious.

Rand felt a thread of fear that something had happened to her, and grasped the woman by the shoulders. "You will take me to her now, or I will find a gendarme," he growled.

Her eyes widened, and he set her away from the door. Grabbing Rachel's hand, he tugged her through the door then shut it, locking the woman outside. She must have been startled at first, because it took her several moments to realize what happened.

She began beating on the door, and likely would summon a gendarme herself with all the racket she made.

"What is going on?"

Rand turned, his heart in his throat at the sound of her voice. "Mirela."

"_Rand?"_

"Hello," Rachel said politely, stepping up beside her uncle to peer at the woman standing at the top of the stairs.

"Rachel," she whispered, then a hesitant smile crept on her face. "My goodness."

"Are you alright?" Rand asked slowly above the pounding behind him. "That woman tried to get rid of me. Am I...intruding?"

"No." She smiled, then came down the stairs quickly and opened the door.

"Madame! This man, he locked me outside!" The woman exclaimed, giving Rand a heated glare. "I will summon a gendarme, _after _I have thrown him from your home!"

Mirela smiled. "It's alright, Vida. This is Rand Vallee. The man from Artenay."

The woman fell silent, appraising him, then she smiled as well. "Ah. I will leave you then, my lady. But if he gives you problems, I will still throw him out," she said, then marched off with her nose in the air.

Rand said nothing, because he had not taken his eyes off Mirela.

"Uncle Rand wanted to see you," Rachel whispered, giving her a shy smile. "So did I."

"Then I am glad you came," Mirela said softly, feeling her heart flutter inside.

"You said we could visit," he stated, quite obviously.

"I did," she responded. Then finally looked back to Rachel. "You will turn fifteen soon, won't you Rachel?"

Rachel's heart bloomed inside. "You remembered?"

"Of course. And you have finished another school year under Madame Allard. Soon you will be looking for a husband, yes?"

"No. And it will be Madame Dessain. Or Talbot. Erik hasn't decided yet," Rachel said quietly.

"Talbot, I think," Rand put in. "He wants to accept his father in all ways, and put the past behind him."

"That's wonderful," Mirela said, then led them into a small sitting room. "And how are Erik and Susanna?"

"Doing beautifully. They are getting married in two months. Henri, that's Susanna's father, is not doing so well. After the wedding he is planning on taking a long trip. Perhaps he will run into Jackson while he's traveling, though we have no idea where the boy has gone."

"He just left? He seemed eager to leave Paris once he accompanied me here," Mirela mused aloud. "But he didn't say where he was going."

"Erik received a letter from him a few days ago, but he did not specify his location, nor did he indicate where he was headed," Rand said, then sighed. "He will find out soon that there is no place like home."

"And how have you been?" Mirela asked, looking directly at Rand this time.

"I must confess to bouts of melancholy, and an occasional encounter with whiskey," he replied, half teasing. "I was wondering if I might take you and Rachel somewhere this evening. Perhaps to a ballet? I'm not entirely certain what you might enjoy."

"A play," she said quickly. "I do enjoy those."

"So do I," Rachel beamed.

Rand smiled. "Then it's a date."

- -

_Meanwhile, back in Artenay, France:_

Erik and Eli lifted the last bed frame up the stairs to the house, each of them grunting and sweating in the warm house. Finding it constraining, Erik had quietly removed his mask long ago to try and dispel some of the heat of the day. Eli had said nothing, though whenever Daniel was in the vicinity he placed it back on. Daniel had seen him without it twice, and it always led to tons of questions.

Not that he minded answering them anymore, but they were the same questions over and over again.

_Does it hurt?_

_Can I touch it? _

_Does it come off? _

And Erik's favorite: _Can I have one too?_

Usually those questions were repeated when someone important came to visit, instead of the actual time when the mask was off. Such as Reverend Lewis and his wife, or the new schoolteacher that had been hired to replace Henri and Susanna.

"You got it?" Eli asked, straining to push up the stairs.

"Yeah. You?" Erik returned, trying to move the massive headboard up and around the corner of the landing.

"Mmm."

And so they climbed, carefully up the stairs. It had never bothered Erik to be in this house, although Susanna had reservations at first. But she had fell in love with her new kitchen, and was in the process of making curtains for every window in the house. And Erik spent most of his time moving furniture now that the painting was finished.

"Now be careful!" Susanna called, waiting in the bedroom with the bed rails and the rest of the bed. "Do not scratch my bed, Eli Vallee, or I will have your hide. And Erik! Don't drop it! Don't drop it!"

"I'm not dropping it," he grunted, even as it slid down his leg and nearly cut off his toe. "I'm setting it down. Quickly."

Susanna sighed, dutifully inspecting each inch of her new bed. "You should have been more careful. I see a scratch."

"There is no scratch," Erik said tightly, glaring at her.

"Right there," she pointed, arching her brow. "See it?"

"That is part of the wood grain," he responded.

Eli shook his head and scooted the bed to the proper place along the wall, then left them alone. Such arguing was normal between them, and it was time for a glass of lemonade.

"It is not part of the wood grain," Susuanna argued.

Erik kissed her.

"It's still scratched," she managed, trying to breathe.

"Susanna." He nuzzled her neck, then kissed her jawline. "Stop nagging. Or we will never get this bed in place."

"Nagging? _Nagging?_"

He placed both his hands on her bottom and squeezed, pulling her flush against him. "Nagging," he replied, giving her a slow smile. "If you want to take a more active part in this process, perhaps it will be better suited for when the bed is up. Then you may order me about as you please."

"Oh," she whispered, then he tugged on her lips with his teeth. "Perhaps I will enjoy that role."

Erik smiled, then kissed her deeply.

"Not as much," he said gravely, "as I."

- -

Should I include all three stories under one heading? Or make them into three seperate stories? They will not be told at the same time, so it is up to you, reviewers! And I hope you like these. They are mostly to encourage my third person skills, so I hope you will read and review!


	2. Gypsy Dreams

Rand & Mirela

- -

I updated my profile. Also, I got a new job, and it is a full time position, so my stories may suffer. I won't have four days a week off now, which sucks, but I won't have to work on a bookmobile anymore, which is great! NE WAY - I recommend reading chapters 85, 95, & 96 of Under the French Sky at some point. It isn't absolutely necessary, but even the author remembered some key parts after reading them again. Enjoy!

- -

"Have you seen this before?" Rand asked softly, during intermission of _The Misery of Chartres._

"Many times," Mirela murmured. "It's one of my favorites."

"Really?" he asked, surprised. He had not particularly liked the play, but then again, he had spent most of his time watching her anyway. Rand wasn't certain, but he thought it was supposed to be about a man coming home to his drunkard father after being away for many years. Of course, most of the evening he had been studying the curve of Mirela's jaw, and the way her hair cascaded down her neck. She knew he watched her, because occasionally she would send him a sly glance and a soft smile.

"Yes," she answered. "Phillipe's character is so hopelessly flawed, that he is impossible to hate. And his father is worse, but despite that the two men love one another. It's too bad he...," she stopped, realizing she had almost given away the ending.

"He what?" Rachel asked, looking interested for the first time. "Dies?"

"Well..."

"Which one?" Rand inquired. "The father or the son?"

"Oh, just watch it!" she exclaimed. "People are staring."

"It's intermission. How can I possibly watch it?" he teased, delighted to know that he could fluster her.

"You are an annoying man," she said haughtily. "Come, Rachel. Let's go to the retiring room while your Uncle fetches us a sarsaparilla."

She stood, smirking at Rand slightly as swept Rachel from the room. Rand stood at the doorway to the box, watching them until they had safely made it to a large cluster of women before he went downstairs for the drinks. He wondered if he would have a chance to kiss her. Perhaps just goodnight. He would give anything to kiss her good morning, but he had promised her once that he would never pressure her. And he meant it.

Both the ladies were waiting for him when he returned, smiling as though they had shared some mysterious secret. Rachel blushed slightly when he gave her a questioning look, and Mirela arched her brow, daring him to try to break the silence with anything less than a polite greeting. And Rand had been around enough females in his life to know that trying to pull anything out of his niece would likely end in embarrassment.

"I see you made it safely back," he stated, handing each of them a drink.

"Obviously," Mirela responded, glancing at Rachel one more time. They had agreed - or rather, Rachel had agreed - that she would wait in the carriage when her Uncle Rand walked her to her door this evening. And the girl had positively glowed when Mirela admitted that she had missed Rand, just as much as she had missed him. "Did you think that we would get lost?"

Rand said nothing, but glanced at Rachel. No one would ever harm his little girl again, and if he had to watch her even on her way to a watercloset, then he would do so. Especially in the big city, where anything was bound to happen.

The lights flickered, letting people know that intermission was nearly over, and he settled back to enjoy the view. And the play was not even on his mind.

- -

"They _both_ died!" Rachel exclaimed as the carriage began moving. "What sort of play is that, where both the main characters die?"

"Ever seen Romeo and Juliet?" Rand drawled.

"Well, no! But I have read it," she said, wondering where in Artenay he thought she would get to see a real play. Not the ones that Madame Allard had put on at Christmas, or that the church did every Easter. But a _real_ play. And one day, though she hadn't said anything to her uncle, she wanted to see a real opera. Hearing Erik playing the piano in church had made her wish she could be as good as he was, but there was never anyone to teach her. And she was deathly afraid to ask.

"It was one of Mirela's favorites," he said wryly. "A play in which both of the main characters die. She must be a true romantic at heart."

Mirela snorted. "Of course I am. Romance...that's what I have always longed for."

Rand smiled at her, wondering just how much romance she really wanted. Because every woman wanted a little of it. He was almost certain. And she had not refused the wildflowers that he had brought her when they had picked her up this evening, though having a young girl tagging along had not been his idea of a Lothario.

Mirela didn't respond to the way his lips curved up, or the look of obvious desire in his eyes. Not outwardly. In her heart though, she remembered the night they had spent together. Not making love. Not doing anything, really. Talking, and holding one another. It had been a revelation for her. Lifting her spirits, and making her see that not every man was cruel. Not every man would use her, and betray her. Rand would not hurt her. He knew the secrets of her past, of how she had been made a sexual slave in Guinevere Allard's house of sin. He had seen the tattoo on her neck, and instead of exciting him the way it had Mathias, he had been angered.

She at last had found a_ real_ man. A true, honorable man. And she loved him with all of her heart. He was not who she had pictured herself with. As a Gypsy, it had never been her idea to fall in love with a man not of her tribe. She had even loved Erik, and had wanted to explore his interest in her at one time. But tragedy had ripped their love and friendship apart, and only now had fate allowed them to find one another. Mirela was happy for Erik. Very happy for him, and for Susanna. Now it was time for her to find out if she could accept a man in all ways after what had happened to her.

Rand had promised to take it slow. And despite the temptation, Mirela still wanted it that way. She loved him. She trusted him, but there were a million memories in her mind of betrayal.

Even love, sometimes, could not conquer all.

- -

Rand was vaguely nervous as he walked her inside. The door was partially closed behind his back, allowing him to hear the carriage outside waiting with his niece inside. Mirela stood expectantly before him, her dark eyes revealing that she too was nervous.

"Did you enjoy the evening?" he asked softly.

"Yes," she whispered, feeling her heart begin to race. "When must you return to Artenay?"

"The day after tomorrow. I'm sorry that I did not write you, or come sooner. The farm suffered from all the excitement the last month, and Eli and Rachel have been somewhat upset after what happened," he said, then touched the back of his head. "Not to mention getting pistol whipped, which has caused some horrendous headaches."

"I know what you mean," she replied grimly. "Madame Allard hit me too."

His features darkened, and he studied her intently. "How have you been, Mirela? I mean...truly."

"I was very upset, naturally," she said, looking down at the floor. "Being kidnapped - twice - and assaulted does that to you. But I have gained much out of the ordeal." Mirela lifted her chin, then stared into his eyes. "I have made some wonderful friends, and found one that I thought I had lost forever. And I have made peace with my past."

He took a step forward, putting his arms around her. She smiled up at him, and he knew true, pure joy. "May I come see you tomorrow?"

"Yes. On one condition."

"What is that?" he murmured, his lids becoming heavy, almost as if he were tired.

"You must kiss me right now," she whispered, "or I will not let you see me ever again."

Rand brushed his lips over hers softly, teasing her, tasting her. She was everything he remembered, and her scent and beauty captured his soul into something rare and lasting. He remembered the way she had looked, the way she had felt, but the reality was so much better than a memory.

"Mirela," he sighed her name, deepening the kiss, his tongue stroking hers. He nibbled her lips, felt her hands tangle up in his hair as his arms went around her back. "I missed you. I missed you so much."

Mirela melted against him, feeling his words straight to the heart. "I missed you, Rand. I dreamed of you..."

He hugged her tight and pressed her face against his chest. "Did you? What...what sort of dreams?"

"Gypsy dreams," she whispered. "You do not understand that part of me yet. I wish to show you one day...if you are willing."

"Of course," he said softly, gazing down into her eyes. "You...I had not thought of your culture. But I wish to know everything about you."

"Gypsies are not welcome anywhere, Rand," she said softly. "In Artenay. Even in Paris."

"That doesn't matter to me. I love you, Mirela. The rest of the world can go hang themselves."

Mirela smiled up at him, staring into his warm brown eyes and knowing joy in her heart. "You are the first person to say that to me," she replied, tears stinging her eyes. "And I do love you, Rand. I have loved you all this time."

Rand breathed a sigh of relief. He had not meant to say the words so soon, but he was glad that he had said them. Knowing she loved him back made it easier, and there was nothing standing in their way now. Nothing, except for Mirela herself. He would continue to honor her, and respect her, and give her every courtesy that she deserved.

"I will see you tomorrow, my love," he murmured, kissing her once more. "We shall talk more. Tonight...have pleasant dreams."

She pressed a hand over her heart as he left her home, and she listened to the horse carriage begin moving down the driveway. It was time for bed almost, and she couldn't help but anticipate a night of pleasant dreams. Gypsy dreams. They always told her the true way.


	3. Working on a Saturday

Mirela spread a blanket across the ground as Rachel and Rand looked on, taking time to make sure every corner was even, and there were no insects scurrying around as she placed the basket in the center. A picnic had been Rachel's idea, as they had no idea what to do once they arrived at her house that morning. Mirela found it ironic that they came to the city, only to go to the park to enjoy nature, but there you go. Sometimes she found all Europeans strange, possibly stranger than they found her.

She wasn't all that fond of city life either. Living as she had, a Gypsy girl, it had taken considerable adjustment to actually live inside a building, instead of beneath the stars each night. She had longed for that, to be free once again. She realized as she sank down onto the blanket that maybe she had allowed herself to become too civilized.

Rachel slipped her shoes off with a shy smile, and Mirela, feeling a bit rebellious, did the same.

"They usually have an orchestra practicing here on the Saturday afternoons," she murmured, glancing down the rolling hill towards the small stage beneath a canopy of trees. "Perhaps it isn't time yet, there are only a few people tuning their instruments right now."

Rand sank down beside her and opened the wine, pouring them each a glass, though only a small amount for Rachel. "Do you come here a lot?"

"Oh, not really," she answered, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "It isn't really fun to go alone. And I always feel self-conscious."

"Why?" Rachel asked softly. "Do people bother you?"

"Rachel," Rand cut in sternly. "You shouldn't ask such personal questions."

"I don't mind. And yes, sometimes people do bother me. I can pass myself off as an Italian, or a Spanish woman sometimes, but I would really rather be myself. People don't like Gypsies."

"_I_ like Gypsies," Rachel stated. "_I_ think you are interesting."

"Well thank you, _chavi_"

"And Erik said you are a pretty dancer, then Susanna pinched him rather hard," she added.

"Rachel!" Rand laughed nervously, glancing at Mirela. "Why don't you go sit down the hill and watch the performers as they set up, hmm?"

She left, grumbling a little, and Rand studied Mirela's face. "Dancing is a very big part of your culture, isn't it?" he asked quietly.

"It was," she agreed, her face darkening. "I don't do that anymore."

Not after being forced to perform, forced to please other men, he thought viciously. He took her hand in his and kissed it softly.

"Tell me what I need to do, Mirela," he said simply. "Tell me what you are comfortable with, and what you are not, and I will do what I can to please you."

"I've never done this before, Rand," she said, gazing down towards Rachel. "I don't know what you expect from me. And I don't know what to expect from you."

"But you love me?" he asked, grinning at her a little.

"I do love you."

He lifted a hand to caress her cheek, then pressed a kiss to her lips that lingered only for a second. "Then we will learn what to expect from one another. Because I've never done this either."

"You've never courted a woman?"

"No. Well...I tried to court Susanna," he amended. "But things never moved forward. I took her on a walk, and trust me, she was irritated with me the entire time. I could see in her eyes that she didn't really want to be alone with me. I think she already had feelings for Erik."

"Oh. But there was never anyone else?" she prodded, feeling insecure. Their cultures were so different. Men did not court women in the tribe. They were arranged marriages, and depended entirely upon the agreements made between fathers. It was all about the men. Here, it seemed, the woman had a choice. She suddenly wanted to know everything about this man that she had captivated...the man who had captivated her.

"There has never been anyone else. I never had time to become acquainted with any women. There were some in church, sure, who thrust their daughters at me. But they were all too young. Barely older than Eli," he recalled, grimacing in distaste. "One woman even tried to match me up with her daughter that _was _the same age as Eli. And he fancied her for himself!"

Mirela couldn't help but laugh at his expression. It was good to know that he was not interested in any young, beautiful women. Because she might still be beautiful, but she certainly wasn't getting any younger.

"I had forgotten your preference for _mature_ women," she said teasingly.

"You make it sound as if I would romance my Aunt's sewing circle friends," he replied with a friendly scowl. "Though I have been known to procure a piece of chocolate cake with the wink of an eye."

"I'll bet," she laughed, inching closer to him. It was a warm summer day, but beneath the shade of an ancient oak a breeze caressed their skin and cooled the dampness beneath their clothing. "And are there any other women I need to look out for, or are the women in your Aunt's sewing circle my only competition?"

"There is no competition," he murmured, brushing a kiss across her lips and not caring who was watching. "You're incomparable, Mirela. We belong together, you and I. How long must I wait for you?"

"Wait?" she repeated cautiously.

"I have a rather important question to ask you," Rand replied, meeting her eyes. "Should I ask it now? Or would you like to wait?"

"I'm not sure," Mirela whispered, fighting panic, but wondering if it might be panic at all. Perhaps it was something else clawing inside of her, begging to be set free.

"I have to return to Artenay tomorrow," he said softly, lifting a hand to caress her cheek. "I won't be able to come back for another month."

"A month?"

"I have a farm to run, and two children to look after. I can't be in two places at once. And I would much rather have you beside me, Mirela, than to have us separated for one more moment. But it is up to you. Do you need more time?"

She hesitated a moment, then nodded, uncertain how to explain the rest of her situation to him. There were other matters involved, Mathias's estate, and what would happen to it if anyone discovered she was seeing someone. There were people interested in taking the money away from her. Mathias had solicitors who would inherit everything if she were to marry again. Mirela was uncertain if she wanted to give up her freedom, if she wanted to become totally dependent on Rand, no matter how much she loved him.

But looking at Rand, she could tell how disappointed he was, and she wished that she had something good to tell him. It was a comedown to admit that she felt safe under the mountain of money that Mathias had left her, even if she realized that she had paid for her freedom with her body.

"Then I will visit you in a month, Mirela. And I will ask then," he said quietly, wanting to ignore the indecision that was evident in her heart. Why should she trust him? What had he given her, besides one night together that had not resulted in anything more than a few kisses? Was that enough to base love on? And a marriage? "If that is still what you want," Rand added softly.

"Of course it is," she answered immediately, searching for his hand. "My answer is already yes, but I-"

"Yes?" he repeated, taking her by the shoulders. The forceful way he grabbed her stunned both of them, but Rand didn't let her go. "Yes?"

"Yes," Mirela whispered, aware of how it probably looked to anyone walking by that she was nearly in his lap. It made her self conscious and wary, and as always, she had to be more careful in her actions than other women. Someone was watching her. She could almost feel it. "But I have to take care of some things first, Rand. Will you trust me? As I trust you."

"Mirela, what holds you here?" Rand asked, resisting pulling her even closer and caressing her back, running his hands through her hair, and laying her down on the grass to press a kiss to the damp hollow of her throat. A glance at Rachel revealed she was still sitting down the hill, her attention fixed solely on the orchestra that was almost ready to begin playing. "Is there something wrong? Something you haven't told me?"

"Quite a bit, actually," she said softly, looking away from his intense eyes. "I'm not sure if you would understand..."

"Try me."

Mirela took a breath and continued watching the performers set up the stage. A dog infiltrated the small group of musicians and caused quite a ruckus when he knocked over several music stands then raced away with what looked like a lady's reticule. The distraction gave her enough time to formulate her thoughts, and she knew that anything she told him was going to upset him.

"I'm very rich," Mirela finally said, though she didn't say it with the pride that another person might. "Mathias left me a fortune, you know. More money than you can possibly imagine."

Her words rang in his mind, and he thought about what she had said back in Artenay. The money her benefactor had left was attached to very thick strings. "You forfeit the money if you remarry," he stated darkly.

"Yes."

"And you aren't willing to give it up?" Rand asked, feeling as if his insides were being incinerated. "That's why you won't marry me?"

"I said I would," she whispered, feeling her heart begin to twist inside. "I want to marry you, Rand. I do-"

"Then what?" he demanded, raising his voice and immediately regretting it when she flinched. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't yell...it's just..."

"That money is dirty," Mirela said softly, wiping her cheek when a tear escaped. "I m-made it on my b-back, and I don't want it..."

Rand cursed softly and took her hand, wishing he could resurrect Mathias-whatever-his-name-was and strangle him. No one deserved what she had gone through, and she was so insecure. She'd been so mistreated that she was afraid to let go of the only security she had left – the money he had willed to her, with his own complicated little web for her to stay entangled in. She had said Mathias kept her isolated, possibly under lock and key, making her depend on him for everything. Mathias had made her believe that she was safe, as long as she stayed in his house and unattached.

"Mirela, you must choose," Rand said slowly, cupping her chin until she met his eyes. "And it will be your choice. Not mine. It has nothing to do with Mathias, or the money. I'm not as rich as he was. I wouldn't call myself rich at all. But I am an honest man, and I make an honest living doing something that I love to do. I want you to be my wife. Not my prisoner." He leaned over and kissed her cheek, wishing he could erase the fear in her eyes. As much as he hated to say it, he knew that he had to so that she would know, and it would never come between them again. "Not my slave."

Her eyes shut and twin streams slid from her cheeks and she lowered her face in shame. "I can't...Rand...I can't..."

"I love you," he uttered as she was about to rise. He took her hands in his and kissed each one. "Don't leave. We don't have to talk about this now. I hate to see you upset."

"Rand..."

"Stay," he pleaded softly. "Just stay."

Feeling as if her heart were about to burst, and not the least bit satisfied with the way the day had turned, Mirela sank down with trembling hands and stared mutely down at the stage. At last the conductor arrived, and the musicians began to play. Mirela took a breath, pretending to listen, but her mind was miles from the music.

Some time later Rachel rejoined them, saying nothing about the haunted look in Mirela's eyes, and nothing about the strained anger on her Uncle Rand's face. And not so far away, a man pushed his body from another ancient oak tree and ground out his cigarette with his heel, discovering that sometimes working on a Saturday paid off.

- -

A special thanks to my betas (YEA! I have_ BETAS_): rappleyea and to foreverphantoms, even though she didn't get to review this one.


	4. Thoughts of Terror

In case you missed the FYI on my profile, I am combining Lily and Mirela into one story. Hope you like my new OC.

**-----**

Lily gazed vacantly at the piano, wishing for the comfort of its melody but lacking the will to play. She did not deserve to have music's solace, not after all that she had been and all that she had done.

She no longer recognized the bitter creature in the mirror. It was hard and cynical, and when she sat before her reflection, nothing but a vast amount of emptiness gazed back at her. The anger had simply stopped when Jackson had disappeared, and now it was guilt that replaced her useless feelings of rage. In the month since he'd been gone she had grown closer to Erik, yet her heart longed for the other brother with an intensity that surprised her. Jackson, the one she'd been raised with and had known all of her life. Jackson, the one she had mistreated horribly just because she could. The brother who could not keep a secret if his life depended on it, but who had loved her and had tried to do what he thought was best for her.

Lily could barely look at her parents. The worry in her mother's eyes and the sadness in her father's was enough to drive her mad, and she knew she deserved every moment of their rejection.

They said nothing to her. They merely gazed at her as if she held the answers to why he had left, when they both knew perfectly well it was her cruelty that had caused it.

"Beating yourself up again, I see," Erik said from the doorway.

She didn't glance at him, but nodded. "I deserve it, don't I?"

"To this degree?" he asked, moving across the room and sitting beside her. He waited until she met his eyes before he continued, "You were but a small part of Jackson's decision to travel. I've told you this."

"But you won't give me any other reasons why Jackson left," Lily argued.

"It is not my place. Jackson is a bright young man, and he wishes to do something on his own. That is all I will tell you."

Lily tamped her irritation before it began. Now that the layers of her soul had been stripped away, she knew Erik understood her, and no longer did she feel the urge to snap at him when he tried to reason with her. The loss of the morphine had forced her to keep a tighter rein on herself, and it was not often she expressed any emotion at all. It seemed best not to stir the dark beast that sometimes tugged at her heart, so she remained impassive and distant except when speaking with Erik.

"Did Papa tell you that Grandmother Talbot is coming?" she asked, switching to a safer topic.

"No," he replied, narrowing his eyes. "I assume you refer to our father's mother."

"Of course," Lily replied with a half evil smile. "You will be in for a surprise, Phantom. That old woman will chew you into pieces."

Erik mumbled something beneath his breath that didn't particularly sound happy, making Lily's smile widen.

"She should be here any day now. Papa said she left London weeks ago, but a letter only arrived two days ago. She's quite old and moves intolerably slowly, but don't think that will stop her from giving very strong opinions. Just be prepared for an insult to your intelligence," she said, chuckling with delight. "She cannot abide stupid people."

"Neither can I," Erik said dryly. "I'm certain we'll get along perfectly." He shifted uncomfortably, hoping the plethora of family members coming out of the woodwork was nearing a stop. He loved his new family, but enough was enough. "And why must I fear an old woman?"

"She's fierce," Lily said proudly. "You have her to thank for your illegitimacy."

"That's hardly accurate," Emma said dryly from behind them. "She didn't even come to France until after Jackson was born."

"Mama!" Lily flushed, then glanced at Erik who had suddenly become interested in the lampshade. "I'm sorry. I was only teasing him."

Emma kissed her daughter's forehead as she sat down between her and Erik, then patted his hand reassuringly.

"Actually Erik, your Grandmother Helene did have much to do with your father's decision to marry me," Emma said quietly. "In fact the entire marriage was based on what she wanted. I merely considered myself lucky to be betrothed to a man as handsome as Colin. It was only later that I realized he was a good man."

Emma smiled wistfully as she recalled the younger days of her marriage, then the subsequent two years of turmoil that had plagued her when Colin had been as secretive as a ghost about his trips to France. She'd thought he had a lover when in fact he'd been teaching his son about piano. Emma also remembered the night he'd received Henri Allard's letter saying that Erik was missing. Her husband, always so cold and distant, had fallen apart right in the astonished arms of his nearly estranged wife.

"Did your father tell you that Grandmother Helene is bringing along a guest?" Emma asked her daughter.

"No," Lily replied warily. "Who is it?"

"Anthony Favero."

"Fairchild!" Lily wailed. "Why?"

Emma pursed her lips. "You will behave Lilian. Mr. _Favero _is a friend of our family, and your father and Jackson hold his musical opinion in high regard."

Lily snorted and looked away, and Erik studied them both. "Who is Anthony Favero?"

"Anthony was a young, troubled London boy that Jackson befriended from school. He is the only son of Alexander Fairchild, the Duke of Montagu, unfortunately for him."

"He's a bastard, just like you," Lily put in, earning a sharp glance from her mother.

"When Anthony found out who his father was, he defied him. Alexander Fairchild had been paying all of Anthony's tuition from Eton on to Cambridge, and when the truth came out Anthony quit school and pursued a vocation he knew would embarrass his father, enough so that the Duke would never publicly claim him."

"And that was...?"

"Opera," Lily said glumly. "His mother was Mariabelle Favero."

"Ah," Erik said quietly. "A very beautiful and talented singer. I was fortunate to hear her singing once, though it was not in an opera."

"Oh?"

"She was...serenading the manager at Opera Populaire," Erik said wryly. "Long, long ago. It was a shame that M. Lefevre did not persuade her to stay."

"Jackson brought Anthony home because he wanted to meet our father. Fairchild thinks he is a composer," Lily sniffed. "He is not, by the way."

"Lilian, Anthony writes beautiful music," Emma said reproachfully. She glanced at Erik with a wry laugh. "Lily is angry with him because she auditioned for his very first production and he refused to hire her."

Lily scowled more, already picturing the arrogant bastard when he arrived.

"Why?" Erik asked, curious.

"Ah...he would not hire a temperamental diva. Especially one who was not proven on the stage. That was the reason he gave her," Emma said gently.

"As if he found someone so great in Georgianna Rutherford!" Lily exclaimed. "She cannot even hit half the notes that I can! He was merely looking for beauty, not talent."

With a snort she turned back to studying the piano as she had done before she was interrupted. Perhaps she would have a reason to sing now. Maybe she would show that incensing Italian that she could have been the greatest opera singer in the world, if she'd had half of a mind to do it! Then with a guilty start she realized she was being spiteful again, and shut off her vindictive thoughts.

- -

Anthony Favero, the unrecognized son of Alexander Fairchild, feared the moment when he would arrive at the Talbot residence to give them the news of Jackson's plans. His foolish friend, who was usually the more level headed of the two, had stopped by briefly to tell him where he was headed and the events that had happened in his family over the summer.

The prodigal son, Erik, had returned, Lily had pushed him to the edge, and he had shot and killed a woman.

Quite a bit more than Anthony had accomplished over the last two months, but then it was seldom that anything excited Anthony more than music.

He had one sister who he was acquainted with, also an illegitimate child from Fairchild, and perhaps two or three more siblings scattered around London. The old duke had no legitimate heir, and since Anthony refused his father's offer to become officially recognized as a Fairchild, he'd become his own man.

A lonely man at that. His mother had died two years ago, and his barely known father lived a boisterous lifestyle in London. Angela, his sister, was enrolled in a girl's school near Bath and thankfully would not become his full responsibility for another two or three years. With no place to call his own except for a cheap flat that he seldom frequented, Anthony had been happy to acquaint himself with the slightly mad but musically inclined Talbot brood.

Lily Talbot was the one exception. Helene Talbot was the other.

"What's in that little brain of yours now, Fairchild?"

Anthony did not even have to repress a groan this time. It no longer welled up at the mention of that name; at least not when Helene Talbot said it.

At seventy five her tongue was sharper than it had been at sixty five. He shuddered just imagining it at eight five and beyond.

"The clouds, Mrs. Talbot, nothing more," he replied gravely.

"Hmph!" she snorted, idly tapping her cane against the carriage that was conveying her to Colin and Emma in Artenay. "I doubt there's more inside than cotton in any case. God knows your father has no brains. Tell me, boy, was your mother any smarter?"

He resisted a smirk, "Obviously not. She consented to lying with Fairchild."

"Ha!" she laughed, "Maybe you aren't as ignorant as my granddaughter would have me believe."

"Your granddaughter would have you believe I'm the devil himself, Mrs. Talbot," Anthony responded, wondering how he would tolerate Lily without Jackson to buffer him from her acerbic tongue. She was still angry with him for hiring Miss Rutherford, and likely would use him as a pincushion now that Jackson was gone.

Temperamental indeed, Anthony remembered, though his reasons for not hiring her went beyond Lily's personality. He'd known her for at least ten years now, long before she'd been jilted and lost her child. Too young, he thought sadly, to withstand such tragedy. She'd become a bitter monster who fueled her anger with scathing criticisms of nearly every man she knew.

Except for her father, who wouldn't tolerate it.

Helene Talbot studied the handsome young half Italian across from her, thinking he reminded her vaguely of Colin. He had a temper, though he'd been stout enough to withstand her the entire way from England and had not once raised his voice. She knew, of course, he was nothing like the old duke. Alexander Fairchild was not known for his common sense, nor his kindness. He was a tyrant who took what he wanted, and did it often. Anthony was nothing like him. She could see the intelligence in his eyes, and the intensity with which he took on the world was refreshing.

He was a man who embraced life through his music, and she'd been fortunate enough to help him through her patronage at the opera.

She wondered if he had ever realized his music would never have been heard had it not been for her prodding the managers in the theater. Her current train of thought led her to wonder about the musical gifts of her mysterious grandson, Erik, who she would be meeting soon for the first time.

"He'd better have more sense than that Frenchwoman my son dallied with," she muttered to herself.

"Mrs. Talbot? Did you say something?" Anthony asked, though he'd heard her perfectly well.

"No," Helene replied, studying him until he looked away in discomfort. "Why aren't you married?"

"Ma'am?" he drawled, raising one dark eyebrow. "Are you looking for a husband?"

"Not for me, you little whelp!" Helene retorted, though her wrinkled face gave the slightest hint of laughter. "For Lily!"

Deep in his heart Anthony felt a shudder run through him. Pure terror – those were the only words that could describe his feelings for being married to Lily Talbot. If he found it difficult to travel two hundred and fifty miles with _this_ Talbot, whom he truthfully considered the meeker of the two, then he knew for certain he would rather face a firing squad than even contemplate marriage to Lily.

He prayed very hard Mrs. Talbot had no notions of matchmaking in her head. Lily would have a great laugh at his expense if she discovered any small part of the conversation he honestly wished had never taken place.

- -

Review! I shall try to update again soon.


	5. The Tension in the Room

It is a universally accepted ritual among men to size one another up the very moment that they meet. First impressions are lasting ones, and in this regard Anthony had always made it a point not to judge a man until the final moments of that same meeting, and never to make those decisions concrete. Men are seldom going to reveal their true selves to perfect strangers, and the only time he ever knew for certain whether a man had good character or not was during a fight, a horse race, or a card game.

Anthony's first impression of Erik Dessain was unlike the description he'd been given by Jackson. Good humored and charismatic were not the proper labels for the unsmiling man who stared at Anthony so hard he seemed to burn holes right through his skull. Or perhaps that was merely a trick of the dim lighting in the room, and it was only the mask that made Anthony uncomfortable.

He'd known the background of Erik's life and disappearance, but Jackson had neglected to mention that his brother wore a mask.

At the moment Erik was being appraised by his grandmother, who studied him with sharp eyes that had missed very little in her long and colorful life.

"So you're the one," Helene stated with a grunt. Erik turned his head slightly, regarding her with that same cool stare. "Get over here and give me a hug. My old bones have no tolerance for unnecessary movements," his grandmother commanded.

Erik glanced over at Colin, who gave a faint smile and tilted his head slightly.

Susanna Croix, Erik's fiancee, nudged him in the back until he moved forward to the old woman. Helene Talbot was not the grandmother Anthony often pictured. He had two ideas, really. One was his mother's mother, a little Italian lady he had never met but who was rumored to have done nothing more than cook, pray, and love. Then there was his father's mother who could not concern herself with something so trivial as even having granchildren, not that she would acknowledge bastard grandchildren.

Helene was neither, but a combination of the two. She loved and prayed, though he doubted she had ever cooked so much as a biscuit, and she pretended her grandchildren were a great nuisance when in reality she was devoted to each of them. Now she had one more grandchild to inspire fear in, and the look on M. Dessain's face hid his carefully guarded feelings.

Erik Dessain might have been nervous, or he might simply have felt ill. Either way his color didn't exactly look right, and that had nothing to do with the mask.

"What shall I call you?" Erik asked her, studying her matronly face. Erik found her oddly beautiful; there was something lovely and ageless in those wrinkles and silver hair. Her eyes, green, like his father's, Jackson's, and his own, were familiar, and yet they told him that she was kind.

"Grandmother!" she said sharply, and Erik's certainty deserted him at her tone. "Well don't just stand there gawking at me, you may do that once I'm dead! Give me a hug!"

A smile tugged at the corner of the masked man's lips, and he obliged her with a gentle and tender embrace. Anthony looked away, embarrassed to see tears in Helene Talbot's eyes, only to find himself being watched by the very young woman he had no wish to see.

Anthony realized there was something very different about Lily. He remembered how she had looked in the weeks following her miscarriage, and now he thought she looked even worse if that were possible. Her eyes, usually so full of fire and barely concealed scorn, looked sad and vacant. She appeared to have lost some weight, and the black dress that she wore hung off her body with all the elegance of a sack. Colin stepped up behind his daughter and placed his hands upon her shoulders, giving a slight squeeze but she did not smile or glance at him. Instead she returned her attention to her brother, who was being thumped on the back by their grandmother.

"Mother," Colin warned when she began to peer up at Erik's mask.

"Let me look," she tossed back, then carefully appraised Erik's entire face. "I heard that you lived with the gypsies."

Erik glanced at his father. "You heard correctly. Though I would debate the term _live_."

"Hmph! And where else have you lived?"

"In places you would never want to think of," he returned, earning another sound of discontent from her.

"Don't be cryptic with me, boy. You're lucky you've already found a good woman to marry. God knows pairing off my other grandchildren hasn't turned out as planned."

Erik coughed, then beckoned Susanna forward. "This is my intended, Susanna Croix" he introduced, wincing when Susanna was appraised in much the same manner as he had been.

"I know this bird! She's Henri's daughter!" Helene leaned forward and spoke in a confidential tone, "I thought you were already married. Tell me that he keeled over and not that you've divorced him."

Susanna's involuntary laugh made the old woman smile, and Susanna remembered exactly why she'd been enchanted by Erik's grandmother the moment they had met originally. The woman was quite eccentric, and the things that came out of her mouth were seldom nice, but always amusing. "My husband passed away some time ago, Mrs. Talbot. It is very nice to meet you again."

"Hmph!"

"Mother perhaps you could be a little less...," Colin began, only to have her swing around on him with her cane pointed at his chest.

"No. Where is my granddaughter?"

"I'm here," Lily said quietly.

Helene turned to see her granddaughter, dressed in mourning colors as usual. At first glance Lily appeared just as she always had, a young girl constantly fighting the edge of depression and usually with anger. But it was the lack of life in her eyes that made Helene start forward, raising one gnarled hand in surprise to her chest. "Lily?"

The concern in her grandmother's voice undid Lily, and she rushed across the room with her eyes already filling with tears. Of all the people in Lily's family that she loved, Grandmother Talbot had long been her favorite. She had always been most like her, and Lily tried so very hard not to disappoint her even more so than her parents. The last couple of years had proved destructive to Lily's very soul, and it had been Grandmother Talbot who had comforted her during those first few days after her loss. Lily hadn't realized until that very moment how much she had missed the old bag of bones.

Surprise did not begin to describe Anthony's thoughts when Lily Talbot broke into noisy sobs in Helen's arms. Equally astonished was Helene, while Colin looked on grimly as his baffled mother tried to comfort his wrecked daughter.

Anthony found he could not watch such a scene. His discomfort stemmed from a long held belief that Lily's skin was thicker than anyone else's, and her anger and scorn of others were purely a part of whom she had become after the tragedy that had taken her innocence. He knew that he had to get away from this debacle, and it looked as if the other two men wanted to do the same. Except for Erik perhaps, who was hugging his fiancee tightly to his chest and watching with concern. Anthony however, was not so stoic and needed to escape.

"Mr. Talbot, I need to speak with you about something in private," he said in a low tone.

"Now?"

"When you have the time," he replied, but glanced pointedly at Lily.

"Very well," Colin returned, disturbed at the sadness that his daughter had not been able to dispel. "Erik?"

"Of course," Erik said, and kissed Susanna's cheek before he followed the two men into the study where Anthony shut the door behind them.

Colin immediately grew tense, wondering what matter was so urgent that it could not wait until Lily had calmed down. Or perhaps this needed to be said without the presence of his daughter. That made Colin worry even more, and he swung around to face his son's friend.

"What is it?" he demanded. "Have you seen Jackson?"

Anthony nodded once. "He stopped in London days before we left. I believe he visited your mother first, then me, before leaving the country."

"He left France then left England too?" Colin whispered. "But where is he going? He has no money, hardly any experience with the world..."

"Jackson has gone to New York," Anthony interrupted softly.

"New York?"

"Those were his plans, but I admit they may not have been concrete."

Erik watched as his father slumped in a chair and stared at his knees. M. Favero appeared nervous for a moment, then cleared his throat.

"I...ah...hate to trouble you with more disturbing news, but I thought you should know this. For Lily's sake, I will understand if you do not wish to bring this to her attention. And I shall keep it to myself, however, her grandmother has surely heard and may not keep it from her."

"What?" Erik snapped, surprising Anthony with his authoritarian tone.

"Her former...ah...betrothed..."

"Pierce?" Colin asked quietly.

"Yes," Anthony answered, relieved to have the subject clarified. "Duncan Pierce has been charged with murder."

Colin rose swiftly, not liking the agitation in Anthony's eyes. Usually nothing rattled Anthony, but now he looked as if he were bringing news of war home to the king.

"Murder?" Colin whispered. "Who did he murder?"

"His wife."


	6. Fraticide and Rosebushes

Colin processed this blow about as well as he would have a direct hit to the stomach. Murder? The thought made his blood run cold, and he shuddered imagining his daughter married to such a man. Colin had given his blessing, so confident had he been that Lily would make a sound choice on her own. And who was he to argue the choice? Pierce had been a man from a respectable family who would be able to provide her with all things.

"Did he do it?" Colin asked faintly.

Anthony sank down into the chair across from Colin and gave a hesitant nod. "I believe that he did. Her family had been unable to contact her for several weeks. Pierce had given them some reason for her disappearance but her family became insistent when they could not find her, or the child."

"No..."

"I'm sorry Mr. Talbot. It does appear that he killed her," Anthony said gently. "The boy was found hidden away and is safe. But the servants talk, and his wife's body was found in a pond on their estate."

"Do they know how he killed her?" Erik asked flatly, and Anthony glanced up to see a black cloud of rage dwelling within the man.

"Strangled, but her neck was broken as well. The paper reported that the servants recalled a scuffle and Pierce ordered everyone back to the kitchens. He may have choked her and pushed her down the stairs."

"Lily...," Colin said tightly, then glanced at Erik. "Has she ever said anything about..."

Erik tightened his lips and suddenly understood why Jackson had been unable to keep secrets from their father. Worry niggled at him, such a human emotion that he was nearly unfamiliar with it, and he had to look away.

"It is not my place," Erik finally responded.

"Did he touch her?" Colin asked sharply. Erik didn't answer again, and Colin felt a tremor run through him. "My God, did he ever hurt her? The...the baby..."

"You must ask Lily these things, Father. I cannot betray her." Erik paused, then glanced at M. Favero before returning his gaze to Colin. "I will, however, tell you that you need to discuss this with her. Soon."

- -

His father stayed behind, head in hands when Erik followed Anthony from the room. Catching up with him outside the parlor, Erik stopped the man before he could enter.

"Did my brother say anything else to you?" Erik asked anxiously. He wanted to hear something from Jackson just as badly as his father and sister did, only he had supported Jackson's decision to leave at the same time. It was odd, really, how his siblings had hooked him into the family more so than his father had. Lily especially, since he could see much of his younger self in her.

"A few things," Anthony conceded, then shrugged one shoulder. "But he was remarkably close mouthed. I know he killed someone, and that has greatly changed him, I think."

"It was to save me," Erik said gruffly, remembering the hot sensation of an imaginary bullet embedded into his back. For a few seconds Erik had thought he was dead, but it had not been his own death he heard. It was Guinevere Allard's, and Jackson had killed her.

"New York, eh?" Erik finally said, since M. Favero was merely staring at him. "He shall have much to see there."

"Have you been?"

"No. But he will be on his own for the first time. I'm sure he'll survive; it just may take some time to find his feet."

"About Lily," Anthony said cautiously, noticing the masked man immediately stiffen.

"What about her?"

Anthony thought of Lily's dark, sad eyes and it caused a pang of regret in his stomach. He'd known what she suffered through, and yet at times he had dismissed her as nothing more than mean and spoiled. Though to be honest, he was not really willing to let go of that notion. But if Pierce had caused the death of her unborn child, Anthony knew immediately he would find a way to apologize to her for his lack of respect, even if she wouldn't know the reason for his change of heart.

"I had no idea," Anthony said quietly. "I never even considered that Pierce might have done the same to her. Even so far as to make her... "

"Shh," Erik whispered, touching one finger to his own lips. "Some things should not be repeated, M. Favero. Say nothing to my sister."

"I've never seen her so distraught," Anthony said, unwilling to let it go. He'd known Lily for a long time. Surely he was included enough in the family that he could express his concern now that he had seen the possible truth behind her anger. Anthony felt as if he were peering into the darkest pulse of Lily's heart, and it saddened him to think of anyone ever intentionally hurting her. He felt a surge of anger as well, which truthfully surprised him.

But Erik simply stared back at him, completely unlike Jackson who would have confessed all with less than half a bottle of whiskey in him. Erik's eyes, cool and guarded, were the precise shape and color of the other two Talbots, yet they held more secrets than anyone Anthony had ever met.

"Erik?"

They both turned at a feminine voice, and Erik relaxed at the sight of Susanna.

"You should go to Lily," she said softly, her eyes flickering between the two rigid men. "She needs you."

He brushed a kiss against her temple as he walked past, tossing a warning look at the dark, handsome man he was leaving her with before he entered the parlor.

Grandmother Talbot was sitting between Emma and Lily, looking perplexed at the sight of her stoic granddaughter who was still fighting tears.

"Tell me what's wrong with you, gel. And speak up! I can't understand a word you're saying."

"I m-missed y-you terribly," Lily sniffled, though it was really much more than that. She really missed Jackson, and the sight of her grandmother had released a wall of tears that seemed unstoppable.

"Hmph! Well dry up," Helene instructed, though she held fast to Lily's hand.

"Yes, Grandmother."

"And you," Helene said, pointing a gnarled finger at Erik. "Where have you been? Did I give you permission to leave?"

"No..."

"Then sit down, it hurts my neck to look up that far! You are too tall, just like you're impudent father!"

Lily chuckled despite the tears. "You were every bit as tall as both of them at one time, Grandmother."

"Do you presume to accuse me of shrinking?" Helene demanded. "I'll wallop you good, gel! Don't think I won't!" She turned her sharp eyes back to her now seated grandson, who was nearly smiling. "You never told me where you have been the last twenty four years."

Lily honestly tried to be good sometimes, but really it was impossible. She now felt a tremor of wickedness, the one that always got her into trouble. "Erik is the Phantom," she whispered with a little snicker.

"Lilian!" Erik shouted.

"What?" she asked, sulking. "It isn't as if she's a stranger."

He glanced around for the location of the Italian, glad to find that he was nowhere around. "That remains private," he said firmly. "My neck can still stretch for the things I've done."

"Phantom, eh?" Helene said, narrowing her eyes. "Phantom what?"

"The opera ghost at Opera Populaire," Lily said gleefully.

"Never heard of you," his grandmother replied, and Erik relaxed while contemplating tossing Lily fully clothed into a mud puddle. "So how many operas have you produced?" His grandmother's gruff tone pulled his thoughts away from fratricide.

"Only one thus far," he answered reluctantly.

"One! Hmph! Colin had me believing you were some sort of child prodigy!"

"I was away from France for many years...Grandmother...and people would not have accepted the talents of a man who looks as I do."

"Don't think I'll put an ounce of pity in your favor," Helene said sharply. "I'm too old for such nonsense. Besides, your Grandfather Talbot only had one arm, bless his soul. And he could play a cello with his feet!"

"How...interesting. Is this enigma still living?"

"Ha! Broke his fool neck trying to climb the roof! Landed in my rosebushes, he did. Damn things never came back," she barked with a laugh. "Never marry a man who plays the cello with his feet."

"I...won't...," Erik replied, perplexed and amused at her orders. "And I would not wish for your pity. You have my approval on that note. I have never found that particular emotion useful."

Helene nearly crowed with laughter at his words. Approval? "No one has ever approved of anything I've ever had to say."

Erik waited, already sensing what she would add.

"They take my words to heart, or else."


	7. What They Need to Know

Okay, I posted the wrong chapter earlier. THIS is chapter 7. I will post chapter 8 later. Sorry!

- -

"I'm worried about my father," Susanna said, walking hand in hand with Erik along the path between their houses. They'd made an escape the moment the children had fallen asleep and Henri had retired. "He goes to bed so early these days. Ever since...ever since my mother died he's been keeping to himself. And he won't speak about it at all."

"Do you think he still loves her?" Erik questioned softly.

"No, I don't," Susanna replied honestly. "I think he found her as horrible as everyone else. That's why I don't understand his grieving. I don't miss her, and I never will."

"It would be alright if you did," Erik said, stopping her so he could look in her eyes. "She was your mother. I wouldn't be angry with you if you felt something for her, Susanna."

Susanna felt tears stab at her eyes, and a quivering sense of rage in the pit of her stomach. "She tried to shoot you in the back! After everything else that she did – she was going to murder you! And Mirela – what she did to her was just as horrible! If Jackson had not done what was necessary...," she paused, seeing a flash of something in his eyes, "...what you said yourself you could not do."

"No," he whispered, growing so still that even the breeze stopped moving against his face. "I don't want to cause more deaths than I already have. She had your eyes, Susanna. I would have rather cut out my heart than hurt her, if only because of that. My anger with her was overwhelming, and yet I could not kill her. And now that sort of anger does not feel right to me anymore."

"Because of me?"

"You have become a light in my soul, Susanna, and I will not let anything dark or painful extinguish that light from my life."

Erik cupped her face in his hands and kissed her, slowly sinking into a mood of desire and need. Susanna's arms stole around his back and she stood on her toes to receive more of him. Erik murmured words of love at her neck and pulled her closer to let her become aware of his needs.

"Come to the house with me," he urged. "To our marriage bed."

"No, not until we are wed," Susanna whispered, her head falling back as his tongue traveled up her neck.

"Then in front of the fireplace," Erik insisted, bringing her lips to his and continuing to tease her.

"I am not pregnant yet," Susanna gasped, "but I will be if we keep this up! I thought we were out of..."

"We are. But come with me anyway, Susanna. It's already been a week."

Susanna chuckled at her lover's tone. Erik, for all his reservation about being touched when he first came back to Artenay, was uncommonly vigorous for a man of thirty six. "A week? Once we are married you will tire of me so soon that you will not notice if a month has gone by!"

"Impossible," he grunted, seeking her hand and placing it on proof of his desire. "I shall never tire of you."

Erik deepened his kiss, urging her with every new skill learned and patience fought for in each caress. Susanna mewed as he slid his palm over her breast and squeezed while his other hand cupped her buttocks and lifted her slightly against him.

"Come home with me," he whispered again. "Make love with me."

The fire that swirled through Susanna could not be denied, and she surrendered to him, eagerly and desperately wanting his touch.

"Yes," she groaned.

Erik flashed a primal smile and took Susanna's hand, quickly leading her back to his house before she could change her mind. Reaching the steps, he turned and pressed another scorching kiss to her lips before tugging her inside. Erik shut and locked the door then slipped up behind her with his mouth set to devour her neck while his hands sought their fill of her breasts through her dress.

"Your beauty undoes me, Madame," he said, urgently reaching for the buttons that went down her back. "A man cannot resist such a sweet reward as you, Susanna."

"Erik," she breathed as his warm lips caressed her neck. Her hand slid up to capture his face and he brought the tip of her thumb into his mouth, making her moan. "A week is too long to go without your touch."

"I dream of the day when you do not have to return to your bed alone, and I may see your face every morning. I wish that I could marry you now. Tonight," Erik told her.

"Then why are we waiting another two months?" Susanna asked, uncertain at the moment.

"Because you requested we wait three months, my love, and only one has passed," Erik reminded her. His hands tightened over her arms and he spun her quickly until she was caught against his chest. "I could have us married before the week is out."

Erik's green eyes blazed with hope while Susanna considered his suggestion, only to deflate quickly.

"We should wait. Jackson may come home," she said dispiritedly, "and things are not right with your sister, nor my father."

"A wedding might bring joy into their lives," Erik muttered. "Or at the very least into mine."

"Am I not enough joy for you?" she whispered, sliding her hands around to his stomach, then a little bit lower. "I seem to make some parts of you happy."

He kissed her hard then crushed her tightly against his chest. "Of course you are," he said seriously. "But there will be no greater joy to me than our wedding day."

"Mmm, what about the wedding night?" Susanna insisted, a mischievous gleam in her eyes.

"That too," he replied, his voice as slow and thick as molasses.

Susanna understood his desire though, she wanted to marry him now. She was tired of waiting, but some things should not be rushed. They would marry, but for the sake of their families who were both a little shattered, they would wait as they had agreed. Three months was not a normal mourning period, but Guinevere's death was not going to cause them to wait the traditional year or more. Susanna would have Erik as her husband, because nothing else in the world would make her happier.

"I love you," Susanna told him, her tone soft and reassuring. "and I cannot wait to be your wife. But we shouldn't move the ceremony, not unless things settle down."

Erik nodded reluctantly, though he preferred to marry her sooner rather than later, before anything else stood in his way. Susanna was right though to put their families' welfare first, Erik realized. His own worried feelings about Lily had only grown stronger since leaving his father's house.

His sister, who certainly needed no more grief in her life, was going to be devastated at the news Anthony Favero had brought from London, and now there was the explosive secret that her father had mistakenly been let in on. Lily was not going to be forgiving of him, even if he had revealed nothing directly.

Erik kissed Susanna again, needing distraction from those troubling thoughts. And the best way, he found, was to lose himself in her sweet body. Without another word between them, Erik led Susanna into the living area, and found solace before the mantle of their home.

- -

Colin had not moved for several hours. He'd stared at the light changing over the interior of his study, oblivious to the corresponding realization that it was growing dark. Fifty seven years old, and Colin felt even older than his mother. He had felt that way for years, only finding respite in the cheerful sweetness of his wife and the occasional pride in his children. Lily and Jackson deserved to have had a better father.

The irony there, was that Colin had never wanted to be a father. Finding out that his slightly older French lover was pregnant, and already married, had been an awakening for the foolish boy he had been. He'd thought at twenty two, with a production under his belt and more to come, that he was a king. Francine had brought him down to earth with a resounding crash

Losing Erik had been even more painful, and now he had apparently failed Lily as well. And Jackson. His music was successful. His marriage was successful. But he felt in his heart that he had been a terrible father, not worth knowing, not worth having. He'd given his daughter to a murderer, and now she was punishing herself for his mistakes. And he'd driven away his youngest son because he was too afraid to tell him how much he loved him.

With a heavy sadness in his heart, Colin remembered that only Erik had ever heard those words from him, and Erik had not even returned the sentiment. For so many years it had seemed sanctimonious to say it to Lily and Jackson, when he had never been courageous enough to take what he wanted with Erik. If only he had claimed that boy as his own all those years ago, instead of allowing Francine her lies and cocoon of propriety.

Colin turned his head slightly when a soft knock broke through his thoughts, and found Emma standing in the doorway looking for him.

"Colin? Are you in here?"

"Emma," he whispered, a tone that pulled his wife into the room, locking the door behind her.

"What's wrong?" she asked fearfully. "Anthony said that Jackson went to New York. Is there something else? Has something happened to him?"

"Me," he grunted, full of self loathing. "Having me for a father has destroyed him."

Emma turned up a lamp and approached her unkempt husband. He'd been drinking, she noticed immediately, and it looked as if he'd thrown one of his paperweights against the wall. It was sticking out of the polished walnut, evidence that he was still capable of anger.

"Oh, Colin," she murmured, then knelt between his legs. "Please don't say things like that. You know they aren't true."

"Aren't they? Look at the mess I have made of my children's lives! Not one of them is happy!"

"Erik is happy," Emma replied. "And though I am reluctant to say it, I would wager that Jackson is having the time of his life."

Colin couldn't picture it. He imagined his son sleeping under a bridge, cold and hungry, doing his best to become as hardened and bitter as Erik, thinking that perhaps if he were different then his father would love him.

"He needed to go out on his own," Emma said, noticing her husband looked rather disbelieving. "He is a man now. And Lily will recover. It may take time, but already she is changing. I think the best thing for her was Jackson's leaving. I love both of them, but they had become entirely too dependent on feeding each other's misery."

"Where is Lily?" Colin asked, peering around the room as if she might be hiding behind his desk. "I need to speak with her."

"Lily went to her room as soon as Erik left. I found her sleeping before dinner, and decided not to wake her."

"Emma...she's...she's so damned sad! I cannot bear the look in her eyes," Colin cried. "This was all my fault! Don't you see it?"

"No," Emma whispered, grabbing his face in her small hands, "no, Colin. Lily has always had her own way with things. She wanted Duncan, and in the end he proved what a callous bastard he was. I am glad my daughter is not married to the man, and I am heartbroken at what she lost. But none of this was your fault."

He looked away, unable to tell her the truth. Pierce had possibly raped his daughter, killed her child, then publicly humiliated her with his announcement to marry someone else. "I should have protected her. I'm her father, and I failed..."

"Do you remember when Lily became lost in Vauxhall Gardens during your concert? It was one of the final performances before the gardens closed forever, and Lily was only six or seven."

Colin immediately scowled. "Her nanny was being harassed by some drunken lout and lost sight of her. I should have hired an uglier nanny."

"You frantically searched for her over an hour. The concert was delayed because no one could find her, and you feared she had fallen into the Thames, or had been abducted by some reprobate," Lily said, remembering that it was only the second time she'd ever seen her husband lose that much control. "We found her sleeping behind the orchestra, wrapped in your opera cloak. The managers were so incensed that their revelry had been delayed by the search for an 'unmannered brat' that they threatened to have us thrown out of the gardens. Do you remember what you did?"

A reluctant smile tugged at Colin's mouth as he recalled picking a sleeping Lily up in his arms and hugging her so tightly she'd protested. "I took my music away from the conductor, and told them what to do with their party. It was hard to find work in London for a few months after that."

"You chose your daughter, your family, over your career. How many men would have done the same?" Emma questioned him. "And when Jackson was three, you missed two weeks of performances and rehearsals because he came down with the croup. I know that you used to sneak into the nursery and watch both of them sleep. You think our children don't remember that, but they do. Lily used to demand that you tuck her in instead of me, and Jackson owes every bit of his wonderful education to you because you made it a point to send him to the finest schools."

Colin looked away, now embarrassed that he'd brought this on himself.

"Our children love you, Colin. Why do you think they try so hard to make you happy?"

He lowered his head, shame written on his features. "They didn't have to try to make me happy. I love them," he said roughly. "That is what they need to know."

Emma hugged him and pressed his damp cheek to hers, "Then tell them, Colin, before it is too late for everyone."


	8. The Nature of Brothers

Okay, here's the real ch 8. If you don't know what I'm talking about you might want to go back and look at chapter 7 and make sure you're reading the story after I fixed it yesterday evening. Thanks!

- -

One week had gone by since Rand and Rachel had left, and Mirela found herself becoming more anxious and restless as each day passed. She wondered what she was still doing in Paris – and in the next moment feared leaving the safety of her home. Mathias had created this prison for her, and was her jailer even in death. Mirela felt a sense of security here, which was an odd thing for someone with her Gypsy blood to feel. Security in the tribe meant family, and being in the tribe meant movement at all times. Here she had no family.

Occasionally Mirela had ventured into the_ Goutte d'Or _district, and had felt comfortable enough to dress traditionally while she perused the markets there. However it had been at least three years since she had done so, and she had stopped completely when she was accosted by a trio of schoolboys looking to have fun with a Gypsy girl.

Mirela's life was certainly not normal. She was caught between two worlds, her heart longed for the world of her people, but her mind told her that it could never be. Mirela also wanted Rand, and that was still a new sensation. One she was uncertain she would be able to deny.

It wasn't Mirela's heart, however, that determined her decision to leave for Artenay immediately. It was the avocat who arrived on her doorstep precisely one week after Rand had left.

"Madame Purram," he greeted once she had offered him a seat, "it has come to our attention that you received a gentleman here. You do remember the clause in Mathias's will? You inherit the money as long as you remain unattached."

Mirela felt anger flare through her, especially when the avocat gave her a twisted smile. "I'm being watched again?"

"Of course," he snorted. "My firm gets half of the money if your percentage is taken away. We've been watching you for years. In late May you disappeared..."

"I was kidnapped!" Mirela snapped.

"I'm sure that you were," he murmured, his eyes revealing no hint of charity. "Still, there was the gentleman caller."

"He had his niece with him. It was hardly inappropriate," Mirela said quietly, even as she wondered why she argued with him. She believed so strongly in fate, in the power of destiny, and in all that she had dreamed of in her long nights without Rand. Gypsy dreams – and they were the ones she always followed.

The avocat stared at her with cold eyes. "You are a whore, Madame, and a Gypsy, which is worse. Everything you do is inappropriate."

Mirela made her mind up with those cruel words. The next morning she boarded a train for Artenay, leaving only a severance pay for her housekeeper and ladies maid. It was time to follow those Gypsy dreams, and see exactly where they led her.

- -

Lily's fingers trailed over the piano, caressing it lovingly while thoughtlessly striking random keys. Her father composed the same way when he was melancholy, and it had become a habit for her as well, though Lily never stopped to write anything down. Music infused her being. She thought of it nearly every waking moment of her life. Even the events of the last year or so had not been able to diminish it. The melody had merely changed from light and innocent to dark and consuming.

Without realizing it Lily began to play one of Erik's songs, not from his opera, he'd hidden that away, but something she'd found among his scattered papers on his desk. The piece was so beautiful he'd left it untitled, but Lily had instinctively known it was for the soprano he'd loved - Christine.

Odd how she could find comfort and peace in a song for another woman. Lily sang the beautiful lyrics softly though, because Erik had warned her often to stay out of his music, and she suspected he would be back from Susanna's at any time.

Even after building the new house, Erik had not spent a night there. He claimed he was waiting until his wife could join him. Lily rather thought he just didn't want to be alone, which was why she'd ventured out of bed once everyone else was asleep, so she could greet him when he came home.

A noise startled her, and Lily lifted her hands away from the keys with a guilty flush. It wasn't her brother though who was standing across the room, staring. It was Anthony Favero, and he was looking entirely too handsome at the late hour.

"I thought everyone was asleep," Lily muttered.

"I heard music. My room is directly above," he said quietly, approaching the piano hesitantly. "May I?"

Lily grudgingly moved over an inch or two so he could sit, then observed his long fingers as they skimmed across the keys.

"There is an almost rhythmic dissonance to it, isn't there? Who is the composer?" Anthony asked, intrigued by the particular way the piece was strung together.

"Erik," she answered, thinking of slamming the piano lid closed on his too perfect hands. "This is one of his many compositions."

"It's unusual," Anthony replied, stopping suddenly, "yet I find that I yearn for the ending. What were the words?"

"Too risqué for your ears," Lily replied, "and certainly for mine. Something about the flower and the bee, and wantonness of lips, as well as other parts of anatomy."

Anthony chuckled at her droll tone, turning his head slightly to look at her. "I cannot imagine there is anything you wouldn't say, Lily. In the past you did not hesitate to voice whatever flooded your brain."

Instead of a retort, Lily's face turned to stone, and she nodded once. "I know."

"I'm sorry," he said immediately. "I didn't mean for that to be offensive."

Lily swallowed hard, and he watched her blink quickly. "It takes two to speak the truth — one to speak, and another to hear."

"Dear God, she even quotes Thoreau now!" he said, his tone light and teasing. The last thing he wanted was to make her cry, and she looked on the verge of doing just that. "The all powerful Lily Talbot has turned herself into a naturalist! Shall I expect you to take residence in a hut and meditate on the beauty of nature? Become a recluse and expound on the much needed simplicity of clothing?"

Anthony was grateful at her smile, and he let out a breath he'd been holding. He hadn't intended to make her angry or sad. He merely wanted to distract her from whatever demons she'd been wrestling with as she plucked ineffectively at the same chords over and over again. Waking to her music had been one thing, listening to its repetitive melody had been another.

"I myself have never taken much interest in clothing," Lily confessed, glancing down at her black dress with a wry grin. "My choice in colors is the bane of Mama's existence. I've been such a disappointment for her. She wanted a little doll to dress up in ruffles and lace, and all I wanted was to sit at my father's side and listen to him play."

Anthony glanced away from her, having no desire to stare at her body in any sort of dress. And now that Anthony thought about it, many a man had been caught in a compromising situation while seated beside a beautiful young woman at the piano. The thought of anything happening with Lily was laughable, but just to be safe Anthony stood up and leaned against the piano.

"What else do you have in your repertoire?" Anthony asked. "I like your brother's music. Please play something else,"

Lily complied with his request, playing a remembered part of Erik's opera that was so passionate it fairly burned. Truthfully Lily loved the idea of her brother as the Phantom. The dark, wicked part of her wished he was still inside the theater. Lily would have joined him in his underground world, and together they would shun all of the people who meant them harm. Erik had become her only ally in a time when she had thought herself happily alone. But it had been the morphine playing tricks on her, she hadn't been happy. She'd merely been alone and out of her mind with the drug.

Lily abruptly stopped playing before she reached the part about becoming _one._ As much as she loved Erik's music, that was enough even to make her blush, especially since she was playing it for Anthony Favero in an otherwise empty room.

"What was next?" Anthony asked, his tone slightly annoyed.

Lily chuckled, amused at his irritation. "I shall not tell you. Erik would flay me if he knew that I was sharing his music with anyone. He doesn't appreciate being recognized as a great musician. I think he rather fears the attention."

"If he didn't want attention, he should not have written such a provoking piece," Anthony muttered, secretly thinking of a way to get her to finish the song.

"I'm glad you liked it," Erik said from behind them, making them both jump. He fixed his eyes on Lily, who was looking rather pale. "Were there a way to remove that song from your mind short of decapitating you, I would do it."

"And were there a way to pry inside your mind and remove the rest of the opera, then I would do it!" Lily retorted, then played three more chords.

Erik glanced warily at Anthony before he crossed the room and sat down beside Lily, eventually pushing her off the end of the bench none too gently. His sister landed on the floor ungracefully, and while he was surprised she didn't immediately bite his leg, he kept a wary eye on her as he closed the piano lid.

"There are some scores missing from my room," Erik informed her.

"I didn't take them." She paused for several moments, then shrugged. "I lied. I did take them. And I was going to put them back..."

"One of them is for Susanna. I don't care about the rest, but that piece I want returned," Erik said curtly.

"Jackson would have had you in a headlock by now, Lily, for stealing his music," Anthony remarked. "It is refreshing to see a Talbot behave with some decorum."

"Decorum! He pushed me from the piano bench! And last week when I was attacked by vicious, angry wasps, he laughed! Laughed!"

Erik laughed now, and hauled Lily back to the bench with him. "Were you stung?"

"Twice."

"And why were you stung?" he asked, still laughing.

"Because you told me not to swing at them, and I did anyway," she replied, though it did not please her to admit he was right. "Still! You could have done more than laugh. Even Jackson would have helped me."

Anthony choked. "Right. If there were a piper's tune for the little buggers, Jackson would have called them for you. Or rather – to you."

Lily shared a smile with him, and felt her brother's shoulder still shaking at her side. Yes, Jackson probably would have paid homage to them, and asked that they needle her with stings. And she would have done the same for him. Lily had always accepted this relationship with Jackson, and yet apparently he had not. It made her throat hurt to wonder where he was now, and what he was doing, if he was thinking of her, and if he would tell some stranger in America that he'd been driven from two countries by his mad sister. The night grew a little quieter with only the three of them in the room, and Lily brushed an absentminded kiss across Erik's unmasked cheek before murmuring a good night to both of them.

Sometimes it was better to be alone to cry, and at the moment Lily felt the need to indulge in tears once more.


	9. Where Too Many People Occupy the Lake

Lily awoke with a restless energy unusual as she had spent half the night crying and the other half trying not to. Erik had left the house by the time Lily went downstairs, and her father was locked in his study where he'd remained much of the day before. Grandmother Talbot was napping, hardly a rare occurrence for a woman of seventy five.

However, she was napping in the sitting room where her mother was writing correspondence, and Anthony was studying the old woman as if she were dead.

Impulsively Lily leaned over the back of the couch, startling him when she spoke near his ear.

"Is this how you spent all your time on the way from London?"

Anthony jerked upright, the feeling of her warm breath near his face a surprise. "She does have an interesting snore," he deadpanned.

Helene snored then, making them both laugh. Emma shook her head. "If she catches you, you'll be in trouble," she warned.

"Grandmother never hears a thing," Lily replied, although she kept one eye on the sleeping woman just in case.

Anthony frowned as Lily plopped down beside him, her face full of mischief and eyes brighter than they'd been the night before.  
"So," he asked cautiously, "is there anything to do in this village? Other than..." He indicated the sleeping Helene, and Lily giggled.

"Are you complaining about the countryside already, Fairchild?"

"Lily," her mother said without looking up.

"M. Favero," Lily corrected, though she gave him an impudent grin.

Anthony resisted a bout of eye rolling, merely because it was what she expected. "I confess to needing a little culture in my life. This town seems to be sadly lacking."

"Awww, poor city fellow," Lily cooed, patting his shoulder. "Did you think Erik was going to entertain you in Jackson's absence?"

"I would prefer him to you," Anthony replied, though he couldn't resist a wry smile.

"It seems we're stuck together," Lily decided, though she pretended to look around for escape. Giving up with a nudge to his ribs, she released a little snort. "I don't suppose you swim?"

"In water?" Anthony asked dubiously.

Lily laughed. "No, in sand, you idiot! Of course water! There's a lake just down from Susanna's."

"I don't swim." Anthony admitted to her.

"I should have known my brother would make friends with another land creature. Do you ride? And yes," she added before he could ask, "I do mean horses."

"I can ride," Anthony answered, "I just prefer to walk, or to be conveyed by carriage. I am not a lover of animals."

"Hmph! A man who can't ride is a man who can't..."

"Helene!" Emma gasped, silencing whatever she had been about to say.

The old woman opened one eye before raising her head. "Get your mind out of the gutter, gel! I swear, is your brain addled or something?"

"Certainly not!" Emma flushed and turned back to her letter.

"What were you going to say?" Lily asked her grandmother, seeing that Anthony was too afraid to ask.

"Hmph! Maybe your mother was right. That would have been entirely too vulgar." Helene reached for her cane, and thumped the floor twice. "You two have nothing better to do. Take yourselves down to that lake."

"But..." Anthony protested.

Helene pointed the cane towards him. "On horseback. We'll see how much of a man you are once you've ridden a few miles."

"Lily," her mother interrupted before she could rise, "you'll need to take a maid with you."

Lily stared at her. "It's just M. Favero, Mama. I don't need a chaperon."

Anthony heard the sigh of disappointment from Helene Talbot, and immediately surged to his feet. "Yes, it would certainly be wise," he said quickly. "I know it would ease Mr. Talbot's mind."

"Papa wouldn't care!" Lily insisted, her ire rising. What was going on? Her mother had never made her take a chaperon. "Mama?"

Emma pursed her lips, but eventually shook her head. Colin was still upset about something, and the last thing they needed was more trouble with Lily. And it appeared Helene was playing matchmaker; she could practically feel her mother-in-law's eyes turning her into a frog.

"You must take a maid, or you cannot go," Emma said firmly, risking her daughter's wrath by putting her foot down.

The order had precisely the expected reaction from her daughter. Lily whirled around in anger, bellowing at the top of her lungs for her father.

Anthony listened with a somber face, embarrassed to be the cause of this debacle.

"I'm sorry, Anthony," Emma said gently. "This isn't about you, and it isn't about Lily. But we're being extra cautious with her now. You know that we are very fond of you."

"It's alright, Mrs. Talbot. It is only proper to send someone with Lily," Anthony said, cutting her off. He had no wish to encourage the idea in anyone's mind that he would be dallying with Lily Talbot, least of all his own.

- -

Lily was quiet all the way to the lake, wondering what was wrong with her parents. Were they both mad? Her father had stood behind her mother, looking at her strangely when Lily informed him, 'it's only M. Favero'. Did they think she needed protection from Anthony? She couldn't even recall the number of times she and Anthony had been alone in the past. Why, Anthony was nearly as annoying to her as Jackson and Erik.

Lily could not understand why everyone was suddenly so concerned about her and Anthony. Had Erik mentioned their late night music session? It had certainly been far from inappropriate, although it might have been a little late for them to be alone.

Still, Lily had certainly never considered Anthony in any romantic fashion. Lily peered at him now, studying him in the sunlight. He looked a like the old duke in stature, tall and rather broad shouldered with lean hips. His neck was thick (and she mentally added his head to the list), and she admired his hands, normally so sure at the piano, they now fumbled with the reins. It was apparent he'd gotten his coloring from his mother. With thick, curly black hair and dark brown eyes, Anthony could easily have been mistaken for a well to do Italian composer instead of an English one.

Anthony was handsome, Lily had always thought him irritatingly so. Lord knew there were enough women looking to climb in his bed, though she'd never even heard a whisper of which ones, if any had been successful. Lily's gaze drifted to Anthony's mouth, finding a rueful smile there as he struggled to 'control' his horse, who wasn't doing anything wrong. Anthony certainly wasn't an outdoors man, but the sight of that smile made Lily's stomach jump.

Lily quickly looked away, alarmed at her thoughts. What was she doing? Driving herself mad? This man had all but told her she was ugly and couldn't sing!

Well, not in so many words of course, but he had hired the beautiful Georgianna almost immediately after her own audition.

"Are we almost there?" Anthony's deep voice cut through her thoughts, and she murmured a yes, realizing they had almost missed the turn. Lily felt her face grow warm as she led them off the path and tied her horse next to his and the maid's, who had been no happier with the travel arrangements than Anthony, and began walking through the woods ahead of them.

Thinking about Anthony in that way made her nervous. He'd always been a little condescending to her, undoubtedly because he was Jackson's best friend and found her treatment of Jackson reprehensible. It did not please Lily at all to become aware of Jackson as a man. Now he was no longer 'just M. Favero'. Now he was one of 'them'.

"Is the lake near Paris?" Anthony complained as he watched her stomping up mud ahead of him. Lily threw an irritated look over her shoulder but didn't stop, leaving him to listen to the mutterings of their chaperon.

Through the trees Anthony eventually caught the sparkle of deep blue water as the air began to cool his sweaty skin. At last a small lake was visible, nestled in a small valley and bordered by tall pine trees on all sides.

He followed Lily out onto what looked like a newly constructed dock, and they both nearly landed in the water when a man broke the surface with a loud roar, then dragged a squealing woman back under with him.

"Erik!" Lily exclaimed, placing a hand over her racing heart.

"Oh." Anthony felt rather foolish himself now that he noticed the amount of waves and the obvious fun they had interrupted.

Erik came out of the water again, this time with his lips locked around who Anthony now realized, or hoped, was Susanna Croix.

"Now I know why you left so early!" Lily called, pressing her hand to her stomach as her brother spun around to look at her and Susanna dove behind him. Lily winced as she realized Erik was without his mask, and Anthony was staring at him.

Erik turned his back quickly with a curse, bringing Susanna closer to him beneath the water.

"Turn around," Lily whispered urgently to Anthony.

"I beg your pardon?" Anthony murmured, pulling his eyes off the couple.

"Turn around," she repeated, and raised her eyebrow until he complied.

"You're going to have to do better than that," Erik said, irritated and feeling at a great disadvantage. He knew the Englishman had gotten a look at his face, and it was no surprise that it bothered Erik immensely. There were few people Erik felt comfortable around without the mask. His father had not even seen his face yet, though Erik knew it would be alright. He just didn't want to make another big production out of 'showing _it_' to someone. "I suggest you go back into town. This lake is occupied." Erik told them.

Susanna giggled despite her embarrassment, earning a glare from her equally naked fiancé. "Erik, my clothes -"

"Mine too," Erik muttered, pointing to the dock. "And it would not surprise me if she took them with her. _When _she leaves."

Lily, who had turned around now and was studying a tree, snickered. "If I do it's your fault. I hadn't even considered it until now."

"We _should _leave," Anthony said, bemused.

"No! I didn't ride all the way out here just to return home. They'll just have to dress," Lily announced.

"We can hardly dress with you standing there," Erik pointed out, swimming toward the dock and snatching his mask before it occurred to Lily to take it.

"Erik!" Susanna's high pitched shriek of outrage over the loss of her male shield made Erik chuckle. He pulled his trunks into the water with him and put them on, then tossed Susanna her own swimming dress.

Once Susanna was safely dressed, Erik surged out of the water and grabbed the back of Lily's gown, pulling her into the water with him, fulfilling his abandoned thoughts of revenge and the belief that he still had years to make up for in sibling torture.

- -

I finally broke down and made a myspace page. There is a link on my profile, but don't expect me to update it and blog all that frequently. But you can see what your beautiful author (that's me) looks like. If any of you have myspace I'll gladly add you as my friend. Sadly I only have Tom, and he has no time for me, rich nerd that he is.


	10. A Fool,A Father,A Joke Waiting to Happen

The sight of Erik laughing and teasing his sister put any misgivings Anthony might have had about him away. The mask was not what had made Anthony hesitate to accept Erik as wholeheartedly as he had done with the other Talbots. Erik had given him a chilly reception on his arrival the day before, and it extended well into breakfast while Lily had been upstairs sleeping. Now Anthony had a glimpse of the man with someone he felt comfortable around, someone he trusted. It was obvious that over the summer Erik and Lily had developed one of those elusive sibling bonds.

The sort of bond that Anthony wished he had with his own sister, Angela, but she was far too involved with feminine pursuits to inspire any sort of brotherly interest. Perhaps one day she might find him or his wealth useful, but in his two visits to her school, Angela had been distant and had seemed almost embarrassed by his presence. What did she have to be embarrassed about, Anthony wondered. HE was the one being giggled at by a passel of fourteen year old girls.

Anthony watched as Madame Allard pulled herself out of the water and plopped down beside him, her face pink from either the sun or from her own embarrassment at having been caught swimming nude.

"You won't go in?" Susanna asked, panting from exertion of swimming in the heavy, wet dress.

Anthony grinned. "I'm not fond of water unless it's for bathing. The rain is nice, but swimming stopped holding my interest around age twelve. I get water in my ears and I can't hear a thing for days. Not something a musician would be fond of."

Susanna smiled as she observed Erik dunk Lily, who then came up from behind and tried unsuccessfully to push his head underwater. Erik should have been tired, Susanna mused, yet he seemed to have the energy of Daniel these days.

"Are they always like this?" Anthony asked. "I know how she is with Jackson, but trust me, they both would have resorted to hair pulling at this point."

"I cannot even begin to tell you how alike those two are," Susanna chuckled. "If she weren't his sister I think I might have a terrible case of jealousy."

"Jackson certainly couldn't get away with half of what she allows Erik. I can hardly believe she's the same girl that I encountered four months ago when the Talbots were talking about their annual trip."

Susanna's brows knit together in a slight frown. "Well, Lily is still not quite like she was before her engagement. Erik worries about her so much. But the anger is gone it seems, and that is a good thing." Susanna touched her cheek where a small red mark was still visible from Lily's fist. "I don't think I could have taken much more of her."

Anthony was puzzled by Susanna's statement, but decided not to pursue it. He thought it kind of Susanna not to mention the miscarriage. Anthony still couldn't quite believe all that had happened to Lily. As a man he should have been well accustomed to violence, but in truth he hadn't been in a fight since age thirteen . It had taken physical persuasion to make the boys at school stop calling his mother names. It never mattered what they called him. Bastard, as if that were the most terrible thing in the world to be. But calling his mother names had earned them all bloody faces.

Lily had had some true bastard hit her, and God knows what else. The only justice served had been what Jackson had given out himself. Lily would have been shocked if she had known what her brother had wanted to do to Duncan Pierce. If Jackson ever found out that the man had hurt her, then Pierce had better pray that he was still in prison or executed.

"You two look awfully serious over there," Lily called.

Anthony glanced up, surprised to find Erik glaring at them as he swam toward the dock. Erik pulled himself out of the water, then sat between Anthony and Susanna with about as much subtlety as a gun going off. Anthony's eyes widened as they took in the silver stripes and knotted flesh of Erik's back, and his understanding of Erik's distrusting nature increased.

He looked away quickly however when Erik turned and caught his gaze fixed on his back.

"Compliments of the Russian knout," Erik said. "_Boi nya. _That's what they told me before they tied me over a table and flayed my skin open."

"What does it mean?" Anthony asked, his eyes drawn once more to the man's back.

"It means, 'it's going to hurt'. They were not jesting."

"Erik!" Susanna scolded. She gave Anthony an apologetic look. "You'll have to forgive my fiancé. He's somewhat defensive around people he doesn't know very well."

Neither man responded nor glanced at one another, though Erik reached for his shirt and put it on, highly irritated at having to reveal anything to this stranger. They all sat in silence and watched Lily as she continued to splash about in the water, looking more like a young girl than a young woman.

"When is your ceremony?" Anthony finally asked, merely to break the silence.

"In seven weeks," Erik answered brusquely, "three days, eight hours and fifty seven minutes."

Susanna's wide blue eyes were fixed on Erik's face when he glanced at her. "What, did you forget the seconds?" she asked with a laugh.

"I forgot my watch," Erik said, his mouth turning up reluctantly. "The minutes were a mere estimation."

Erik reached for Susanna's hand and pressed a discreet kiss to her palm.

"But it may as well be an eternity, for all the patience that I have for those seven weeks and three days."

Anthony knew then that he was forgotten as they smiled at one another and edged closer together. Quietly he got to his feet and walked to the shore, skirting around the edge towards a distinctly odd tree that hung out over the water.

"That's our diving tree," Lily called, swimming toward him. "You should try it."

"If only it led to a soft bed or a pile of leaves," Anthony said wryly, "then I would be more than happy to jump in."

Lily swam until her feet reached the bottom and she could stand firmly on one of the many rocks that Erik had sunk to reduce the mud so Susanna would join him more frequently.

"Coward," she drawled softly.

Anthony scowled, especially when he looked over to see Susanna and Erik staring. "I prefer not to swim. It doesn't mean that I can't."

"Hmm," Lily replied.

Calling himself twelve kinds of a fool, Anthony removed his coat and shirt and hung them on a branch, then wrestled his boots off and climbed the tree with agility he was grateful to still possess. Lily, damn her, was waiting patiently out of sight as he walked out onto the branch that was obviously meant to be leapt off of.

"You have to bounce twice for luck," Lily informed Anthony sagely.

"Twice for luck," Anthony muttered, testing the springiness of the limb. "I'll be lucky if I don't break my neck."

"Are you afraid of heights?" Lily taunted, coming out of the water a few feet.

Anthony stared. Her dress was plastered to her frame, and clearly the water was cold. He could see the outline of her nipples even from his place in the trees, hard and puckered. How had he never noticed before that she had breasts?

Distracted by Lily, Anthony moved out another step, and lost his footing. He heard a sharp cracking sound, and in the next moment his stunned body crashed into the water, followed by the branch of the tree he'd been standing on. Anthony sputtered to the surface, grateful that he hadn't been knocked unconscious by the falling limb.

"Now look what you've done," Lily complained. "You've broken my diving tree."

Anthony shot her a fierce glare before swimming to the dock and climbing out of the water, ignoring the laughter of Erik and the chortles of both women.

Just when he was certain his day could not get worse, he was forced to ride home in wet clothing, chaffing parts of his body that he had never thought would be chaffed, and were certainly unmentionable.

Anthony suffered in silence, though he imagined those around him thought he had a rather bad case of indigestion. If only they could see the truth, and just how red a man's backside could get.

- -

Colin knew he could delay it no longer. Lily was sitting at the piano shuffling through a music book when he closed the parlor doors and locked them.

Lily glanced up, surprised. "Papa? Is something wrong?" Her father looked so old, and she felt a hard knot tighten in her stomach as he approached the bench and sat down beside her.

"Papa?"

"Lily, I need you to listen to me," Colin said softly, the words sounding almost mumbled. "I have something to tell you, and its very hard for me to bring this up, but I must."

Lily didn't move. Her father had never said anything to her about Duncan or the baby, and she had a sinking feeling that he was about to. Or else something was wrong with Jackson, which was worse.

"First, a question. Lily. Did Duncan ever hurt you?"

Colin watched his daughter stiffen, and she muttered Erik's name beneath her breath.

"No. No, this comes from somewhere else," Colin said quietly. "No one has betrayed you, and I'm...I'm your father. If it is true then I wish with all my heart that you had told me yourself."

"Please don't speak of this," Lily whispered.

Colin closed his eyes and prayed for courage, then he took her hand. After several years with hardly any real affection between them, it was terrifying for him to reach out now, and he was thankful when she seemed too surprised to pull away.

"Lily, there was news from London about Duncan," Colin said, slowly facing her. "He has killed his wife."

Lily's eyes widened, and Colin saw a little fear flicker in their depths. Colin immediately felt his blood surge in anger.

"Did he hurt you?" he asked again.

Lily turned her eyes to the piano and stared at the keys, tears blurring the polished ivory. It was a long time before she answered, and she thought of all the trouble she had gone through to hide everything from her family. All for nothing, because now her father knew. Even if Lily denied it, then she would just be lying and he would know that as well.

"Yes."

Her father groaned deeply, and Lily felt a surge of shame without knowing why. It hadn't been her fault. She understood that now, yet her actions had gotten her pregnant, and her innocence had destroyed that unborn life. Too trusting, too stupid, Lily thought bitterly.

Then it occurred to Lily what else her father must be asking, and she blurted out an inappropriate laugh. Her father's eyes met hers, clearly startled.

"What?" Colin asked, his face tight with suspicion.

"Papa-" Lily stopped, entirely embarrassed. How could she tell her father such a thing? And yet she knew that she had to. "Papa, it was...I mean...I was not _raped_," she finally stammered out.

"But-"

Lily cut him off, not wanting to go into that part of her past. It was best to forget the ten minutes she'd allowed Duncan to buck around on top of her and how grateful she'd been that he'd finally stopped long enough for her to catch her breath.

"I was not raped, and that is all I have to say about my lack of good judgment," Lily said firmly. "I regret everything about my actions, especially considering the outcome."

Colin released a breath he had been holding, and studied Lily carefully. She didn't appear to be on the verge of tears as she'd been constantly throughout the last month. As much as Colin hated to continue delving into her pain, he had to know everything. Perhaps then she could put it behind her once and for all.

"What about the baby?" Colin asked gently.

Lily's eyes closed, and her hand squeezed his hard. "He did that...Duncan...he hit me, and I lost it."

"Lily-"

"Wait!" Lily blurted out. She took a breath and opened her eyes to stare at the keys. "There's something else."

"Yes?"

"I've stopped now. Actually it was Erik who made me – but I was..."

"What?"

Lily formed the words in her mind carefully,discarding a hundred explanations for her behavior. There were none, but she wanted to tell him. She wasn't sure why, but felt that the truth might relieve her burden somehow. In every breath that she felt her father take beside her, she sensed his love. He'd never judged her. Never said anything to her about what she'd done with her life, nor had he disowned her because of her increasingly bad behavior.

Perhaps now that he knew the reason for her anger, he might also understand why she tried to cope the way that she had.

"The doctor prescribed something for the pain. Only, the pain never went away." She placed a hand over her heart and gazed at him sadly. "So I kept taking it, for months and months..."

"What was it?" Colin asked, though he could only think of one thing.

"Morphine."

There it was, that black, ugly truth. The drug once revered and now shunned. It had been Lily's dark savior.

Now her father knew everything, and the pain inside her heart unwound until it drove away even the shame.

"I'm sorry, Papa," Lily said quietly. "I never meant to make you worry so much."

Lily's eyes filled with tears as her father choked back a sob, and in a heartbeat she threw her arms around his neck, unable to bear the sight of her father driven to tears. Lily was stunned at how hard he squeezed her and the intense shaking that overtook her normally solemn father. It made her heart ache to see how much he cared for her and how little she'd paid attention.

"I love you," Colin burst out, his throat tight and his lungs burning. "I've never told you that before, and I'm sorry."

Lily closed her eyes and enjoyed the safety his arms had always given her. She couldn't recall the last time her father had held her, though there was a vague memory of him being there in the first few days after she'd miscarried. She thought she might have recalled him speaking to her as she'd lain in bed, half out of her mind with pain and the promise of deliverance from that pain through her new friend, morphine.

"Oh, Papa. Of course you have," Lily whispered.

"No. I should be shot for not telling you and Jackson how much I love you."

Lily kissed his cheek. "Silly old Papa," she murmured. "We love you, and we know that you love us. Jackson and I aren't so vain that we must hear it. You tell us without words, a hundred times a day."

"I've been terrible to you and Jackson," Colin continued, a man on the verge of baring himself to his surprisingly tenderhearted daughter. Part of the terror that came in talking with Lily was her anger. Now at least Colin knew why she'd been so uncontrolled, and it hurt him that it hadn't occurred to him before. "You couldn't even tell me about...about your..."

"I was ashamed of myself," Lily replied softly. "And I didn't want you to be disappointed in me."

"I would never be that. None of my children could disappoint me."

Lily pulled away, just enough so that she could stare somewhere other than into her father's eyes. "You get angry at me for speaking to Lucien Boef. And you think I need a chaperon with M. Favero!"

Colin gave a wry smile at that. He'd been clued in to his mother's scheming by his concerned wife, and he knew exactly what his mother was capable of. She had made more matches between couples than almost anyone in her circle of old, clucking friends.

"I don't want to see you hurt again." Colin reassured Lily.

Lily's lips quirked in irritation. She couldn't imagine not having her father care for her, and it made her feel safe just knowing that he was here. "Still. It's only M. Favero. Everyone seems to think -"

"What?" Colin asked gingerly, aware that Lily might not know her grandmother was plotting, and praying she wouldn't find out.

"That I like him! Or...something," Lily mumbled.

Colin decided that he truly did not want to know her every thought on that subject. He liked Anthony, but obviously his matchmaking mother was mistaken. There were some things a man could just sense about another man, and Colin knew that Anthony Favero had no interest in his daughter. And for that he was grateful.


	11. Eau de Erik and the Green Eyed Monster

"You're jealous of Anthony Favero," Susanna declared.

Erik gave her a reproachful look as he adjusted the wooden swing he'd built for the front porch. "Don't be absurd."

It had been four days since the lake, and every time Erik had been in the same room with the young composer Susanna noticed Erik staring at him, judging him, comparing himself to the man and to his music, which was simply quite beautiful. Anthony's music was different from Erik's, and not quite as dark, but nonetheless moving.

"He's a nice man," Susanna commented, noticing Erik stiffened immediately. "I can see why your grandmother is so intent on pairing him and Lily together."

Erik turned to look at her. "What do you mean by that?"

Susanna shrugged, her blue eyes a picture of innocence. "It is obvious to me that your grandmother has decided that the two of them belong together. Have you not observed how she sends them off alone for any number of things? Your grandmother made Anthony escort Lily to the market for fresh apples, a task that a maid surely could have handled. And then she sent them out on the impossible task of finding her a lorgnette! What would she possibly need one for?"

"She claimed that her eyesight was poor, and she required one to read," Erik said, hoping Susanna was wrong.

"And do you really think that she would have rushed into the library for that purpose, even if they had found one?"

Erik tightened the fastener that held the chain to the porch, taking his frustration out on the inanimate object. He did not particularly want Anthony Favero as a brother in law. In fact, he much preferred his sister to remain single. It was certainly easier to torture her when she did not belong to another man, and he didn't think that Anthony was interested in Lily, nor she in him.

His sister wasn't the woman he worried about alone in Anthony's presence however. It was his delectable fiancée, who no doubt took notice of the handsome, unmarred man. Erik had lain awake for the last few nights, anguishing over the picture of Susanna and Anthony chatting comfortably at the lake. Erik wondered if Anthony had taken a liking to Susanna and decide to claim her for his own.

Susanna suspected Erik's thoughts, and she stepped up behind him and placed her arms around his waist. "I love the way your skin smells right now," she murmured.

"I'm sweating," Erik grumbled, his arms still above his head as he fiddled with the chain. "Hardly something appealing to take in."

"It is," Susanna breathed, placing her mouth along his spine through his shirt. "I think they should bottle it for every man to wear. Women around the globe would find it irresistible."

"Eau de Erik?" he asked doubtfully. "I don't think there is a perfumer in the world who would consent to such a thing. There is something obviously wrong with your nose, Madame Croix."

"And something is wrong with your brain," Susanna murmured. "Why don't you like Anthony Favero?"

Erik finished with the chain and attached the swing, then sat down beside Susanna. "It isn't that I don't like him," he said quietly. "I am not comfortable around him. There's something about him..."

"You don't believe that," Susanna insisted. "There's nothing wrong with him, you doubting Thomas. Please tell me that you don't think I would be interested in him."

Erik looked away, but he could see her small hands tighten into fists. "I don't wish to start discord between us."

"Then don't," Susanna said, reaching for him. "You have accepted Rand without jealousy, haven't you?"

"That's different. He's in love with someone else."

"So am I," Susanna reminded him. "I'm in love with you, and that won't change."

"Susanna..."

"And I have accepted Mirela, a woman a hundred times more beautiful than I."

Erik's eyes widened as he looked at her. "That isn't true."

"She's very pretty," Susanna said loftily. "Exotic. I am nothing more than curls and short legs. Hardly worth salivating over. If you ask me then it is Rand who should be worried if Mirela comes to Artenay. Because if Lily refuses Anthony, then Mirela may be the only woman in this village who looks at him twice."

"You're breathtaking, just as you are, Susanna. And Mirela would never change her mind once it is set. She would never hurt Monsieur Vallee if they had some affection between them."

"And I would hurt you?" Susanna scoffed. "Do you question my honor?"

"No!" Erik said quickly.

"I have never questioned yours either," Susanna continued.

Erik hesitated a moment, disarmed by the agitation in her eyes. "What do you mean?"

"When Mirela first arrived I was suspicious and jealous of your intentions. You were so upset when you saw her that I feared you regretted your promises to me."

"No," Erik whispered. "I would never regret anything about you, Susanna."

"You were very close to her once. And I think that you will be again, should she decide to accept Rand's offer of marriage and come back." Susanna looked into Erik's eyes, hoping her words would break through to him. "I have no such closeness to Anthony Favero, nor to any man that is not related to me. Not even Jackson. I love you. And I wish you would put this nonsensical dislike of him aside, and understand that even if he pledged devotion to me that I would not consider his offer for half a second."

Erik gave a rueful smile and pulled Susanna closer, wishing he did not have such a thick skull. It was indeed thicker than his skin. There was more love in Susanna than he had ever thought possible, but he would not be human if he didn't feel jealousy towards the other man. And not merely for his handsome visage. Anthony Favero had accomplished everything musically that Erik had ever hoped and dreamed, and Erik could not help feeling greatly annoyed at the younger man.

Grudgingly Erik admitted to himself that there was nothing wrong with Anthony's music. It was original and superbly done, and if he had been offered the choice of listening to any British composer other than his father, it would have been M. Favero.

"I will be nicer to him," Erik permitted. "So long as he has no designs on you. Or Lily." As an afterthought, he added, "Or Mirela."

- -

Susanna could not have been more delighted at their visitor that evening. Daniel was riding Julien's old gelding around the yard under the watchful eye of Erik when a woman appeared out of nowhere at the edge of the drive.

She was petite and dark colored, wearing a fashionable hat set at a jaunty angle over her black hair. The closer she came the wider Susanna's smile grew, and Erik appeared startled as Susanna flew past him at a run.

"Mirela!"

Susanna's laughing voice reached his ears and he glanced beyond her to the woman standing rather uncertainly on the grass. Erik's own smile widened and he picked up Elisabeth, who had been clinging to his legs, and briskly crossed the yard.

"Hello," Mirela said, clutching a black valise nervously. "I hope I'm not imposing."

"Not at all!" Susanna put her arm around Mirela's shoulders and drew her closer. Susanna gave Erik a rather superior grin. "Look who is here, Erik. It's _Mirela_."

The Gypsy's eyes shifted from one to the other. "Is something wrong? Shall I leave?"

"No!" They both said, sharing a perturbed glance.

Erik held quite still as Mirela brushed a kiss across his cheek, then tickled Elisabeth's chin. The girl cooed her approval loudly and clapped her hands, letting out a delighted, "Eeew!"

"We were just discussing you earlier," Susanna said, taking her bag. "Goodness, did you walk here?"

"Yes," Mirela admitted. "I asked at the house in town first. They said you were out here."

"That's five miles!" Susanna exclaimed.

"I'm quite used to walking," Mirela replied. "Or at least, I once was. It was really no bother."

Erik met Mirela's eyes and nodded slightly, acknowledging that something had changed for her. She did not have the hard, bitter edge he'd seen about her last time. "Are you here permanently, or is this just a visit?"

"Permanently," Mirela said decidedly.

"And have you been to Rand's?" Susanna asked, leading her toward the porch. Susanna was practically crowing with delight at the chance to prove that jealousy could work two ways, and that Erik had no reason to be jealous of Anthony Favero if she could accept this beautiful woman in his life.

"No." Mirela flushed a little as she took a glass of lemonade. "I was on my way, and lost my nerve at the last moment. I thought perhaps it best if I sent him a note first."

"May I ask what prompted your return, if your heart is not set on marriage?" Erik asked quietly.

"Oh, but it is," Mirela assured him. "I will say yes if he asks again, of that I have no doubt. But I have been a little disconcerted about something that happened in Paris. I left because there has been an avocat following me, watching what I do. He was there when Rand and Rachel visited me."

"Why would an avocat follow you?" Erik asked.

"Mathias," Mirela said simply. Erik's jaw tightened at the mention of the man's name. Before she left Artenay, Mirela had told Erik and Susanna about her life, thinking it only right that they know the truth about Guinevere Allard. "The money that Mathias willed to me was only mine if I remained unattached to any man. I think perhaps my servants were spying on me as well. I knew that at one time I was being watched, years ago, but I thought that perhaps they'd given up."

"I would have given you money to replace his," Erik said, covering Mirela's hand with one of his. "You should never have accepted it in the first place."

Her eyes flashed, and he withdrew immediately.

"I'm sorry."

"Do not presume to know everything, Erik. A man may be able to turn his nose up at such a dishonorable offer, but a woman in my position had little choice but to accept. At least I was safe and I could manage my own life. I never minded being followed," Mirela said, blowing out a long breath. "At least not until Rand entered my life."

"But you are willing to give up the money for Rand, is that correct?" Susanna asked softly. "I know that he will be eager to see you. Every time I see him, you are all that he talks about."

"Really?" Mirela's eyes took on a disbelieving width.

"It's nearly annoying," Erik said, giving Mirela a gentle pat on the shoulder. "If I were not so fond of you, then I would happily strangle him. But it is obvious to everyone that Rand loves you. Even the people in the village seem curious about you."

Mirela's eyes grew shuttered, and Susanna immediately sat down beside her. "You will find that most of the people in Artenay are a great deal kinder than any you met in Paris. And with support from three of the most well liked families in Artenay, then I have no doubt that they will love you."

Mirela smiled softly, hoping that it was true.

"There is also the summer festival coming up," Susanna added.

"The summer festival?"

Erik groaned, earning a wrinkled nose from his fiancée. Susanna ignored him and turned back to Mirela. "We have one every year. The church sets up a little fair in town with games for the children and even a few for the adults. There's a dance, and even a fortune telling booth."

"Really?" Mirela's eyebrow shot up. "And who is the seer?"

Erik smothered a laugh. "Not a real seer. Madame Dumont at the inn dresses up every year. It is something amusing for the children. She once told me that I would suffer terrible consequences if I did not stop trampling the flowers outside of the Post, and that stealing cookies would make me fat, not that I cared. Her cookies were almost as good as...as my mother's."

"Your fortune teller is the innkeeper's wife?" Mirela was appalled. "This will not do. This will simply not do."

"You wish to practice again?" Erik asked quietly.

"I wish to be myself," Mirela returned, lifting her chin a notch. "That is all that I have ever wanted."

Susanna secretly wondered how willing Madame Dumont would be to give up her position as soothsayer, but promised Mirela that she would talk to her. Perhaps if Susanna worked the right angle, the town might be charmed by the Gypsy, though not half as much as Rand Vallee, to be sure!


	12. The Power to See and Destroy

It was apparent to Helene that she was going to have take dire measures to ensure a match between Anthony and her granddaughter Lily. Viola Portington, her oldest chum, had laughed when she announced her choice for Lily years ago. Then the entire business with that toad Duncan had thrown Helene's plans into the furnace. Helene feared that idiot had done more than ruin her chances to bring Anthony and Lily together. Helene had watched her vibrant granddaughter become something dark and bitter.

She had not expected to find the brittle shell of Lily's anger gone when she arrived in Artenay with Anthony, but delighted that it was not present. And after watching them carefully the last few days Helene knew that Lily was ready after all. Lily might not know it, and her parents certainly couldn't see it, but the girl was definitely prepared for love.

Anthony Favero had long been Helene's choice for Lily, despite the animosity between them. Lily had fire, and Anthony had a backbone, though she was certain it was now bruised from his fall into the lake. That combination of energy, as well as their passion for music was what set their fates in Helene's mind.

Lily and Anthony would be married, and sooner than they thought. It was time to stop treating them like children. Helene's face was perfectly composed when she leaned over to her dinner companion and whispered in Anthony Favero's ear, "I saw you looking at her."

Anthony raised one eyebrow. "Who?"

"Lily. You were staring at her backside while she was picking up the sheet music from the floor." Sheet music that Helene had intentionally dropped and commanded her granddaughter to pick up, right in Anthony's line of sight. Really, if the boy didn't want to be married then he shouldn't have fallen for her trap so easily. Anthony had been staring at Lily. Helene had even seen him shift uncomfortably. It was a match made in heaven.

"I do not know what you are speaking of," Anthony said dismissively.

Helene snorted and caught the stern look of her daughter in law as she leaned in the opposite direction. "Anthony was staring at your backside," she whispered, giving Lily a reproachful look.

"He was?" Lily whispered back. "When?"

"You were picking up music papers." Helene narrowed her eyes and lifted her chin. "You ought to know better than to thrust your backside at a man's face. He was so discomposed that he had to leave the room."

And that was true as well. Lily and Anthony had been remarkably silent to one another after they had returned from the lake, and no amount of fool's errands had drawn a response. But Helene had noticed that Lily looked at Anthony when he was occupied with something else, and Anthony looked at Lily no matter what she was doing.

"Oh," Lily said, returning her attention to her plate so promptly that Helene had to smile.

Yes, indeed. They were definitely aware of one another now. All that was needed was a gentle push. Or shove.

- -

"Mirela's here?" Rand asked, his heart walloping the confines of his chest. "In Artenay?"

"She is staying with Susanna and her father," Erik said, tying his reins over the rail.

Rand invited him in but Erik declined. Erik knew that his presence sent Rachel Vallee scurrying upstairs whenever he visited, but from all accounts, she did that with everyone, even Henri and Jackson.

"Why didn't she come here?"

"Nervous, I suppose," Erik said noncommittally. "I don't believe she's ever done this sort of thing before."

Rand had. Once. Susanna had turned him down, and while it had not been precisely the most disappointing thing in the world, it had hurt all the same.

"Does she wish to see me?" Rand asked carefully.

"Of course. Go to her," Erik said, sweeping his hand in the direction of the cottage. "I doubt that either one of you will have sense enough to remember what you obviously shared."

"And you're such an expert on love?" Rand snorted. "From all accounts Susanna had to practically tie you down just to give you a hug."

"No, but I do know Mirela."

"After so many years?" Rand asked doubtfully.

Erik considered his words as he stroked Cesar's neck, then looked at Rand levelly. "A girl as opinionated as Mirela does not change. She's the same now as she was then, and I did know Mirela Purram, the Gypsy girl. Consider yourself fortunate to have won the heart of a woman of strength. Let us just hope you have your own. As I remember she is remarkably stubborn."

"Of that," Rand said with a wistful smile, "I have no doubt."

- -

Mirela was leaning against a tree in Susanna's yard, watching Elisabeth pluck at a wild daisy when Rand and Erik rode into the yard. Mentally she thought about kicking Erik, though she had known he would probably do such a thing.

She forgot all about Erik as Rand stopped his horse and swung off, revealing his muscled stomach since he had forgotten to tuck his shirt in.

"You're here," Rand said once he had crossed the yard.

"Yes," Mirela answered, taking his offered hand.

Behind them Erik lifted Elisabeth and carried her into the house, leaving them alone.

"I didn't really expect you to come back," Rand said, his eyes memorizing the fringe of her lashes as they rested on bronzed cheeks. "I was prepared to go to Paris in another week or so."

"You were?" Mirela's cautious smile tugged at his heart and she stepped into the circle of his arms. "I had reasons other than you for leaving Paris, but I admit you were what brought me to Artenay."

"Is something wrong?" Rand asked, concerned.

"Nothing that I can't handle," Mirela said softly. Her throat closed when she tried to tell Rand about the avocat. His brown eyes looked so hopeful that she didn't want to ruin the moment by saying she had not given up the money entirely for him. "Nothing that matters anymore."

Rand lowered his head slowly to kiss her, the full weight of her love sinking in. Mirela was here, and now she was his, and the confidence in her eyes expressed all that Rand needed to know.

"Marry me," Rand urged, tangling his hands in her dark hair. "Love me, and marry me."

"Yes," Mirela whispered, feeling the white thread of light enter her veins as their lips met. She was blinded but a moment as she witnessed the future, and in those few seconds Mirela sensed a sadness in Rand's heart that brought black grief to her. "No..."

Rand's head came up instantly, alarm written across his features. "No?"

Mirela shook off the image, realizing what she had said. "Yes. I will marry you, Rand. That...that 'no' was meant for something else."

Rand eyed her suspiciously, but decided to kiss her again.

"Wait," she said quietly, holding her hand over his lips. "I need to know something."

"What?"

"How long has your father been ill?"

"My father?" Rand echoed, wondering what she was talking about. He hadn't spoken to his father in years. He certainly didn't know if he was sick or not. Only Eli visited them, and that didn't happen very often. "What does my father have to do with anything?"

Mirela's eyes grew sad and she placed a hand over his heart. "You should go see him. Soon."

Bitterness seeped into Rand and he pushed her hand away. "I don't speak to my father. He and I do not agree on...anything."

"Do you trust me, Rand?" Mirela asked, her face taking on a grave expression that sent a chill through him. "Do you believe that the beliefs and differences in our culture are open to many forms of interpretation?"

"Of course I do," Rand answered.

"Your father is very sick. You must go to him," Mirela said, her tone one of pity and regret. "Before it is too late."

Mirela tightened her hands over Rand's arms, and the joy of the day fell away just as quickly as it had come.

"How long do I have?" Rand whispered, his heart sinking.

"Three days," Mirela said, willing him to believe her. The expression in Rand's eyes said that he did. "You have three days with him."


	13. Regret of A Father and A Son

Rene Vallee knew that he was going to die. He'd known this all his life, of course. But like most men he only remembered it in a passing thought and he ignored the cold chill that swept through him at the idea of an unfinished life. Now Rene could feel death's dark edges pulling closer and closer, and he could no longer ignore his fate. He saw the angel's white wings and celestial expression of love when he closed his eyes.

Amazingly the angel looked like Jonathan. Jonathan, in death, was beautiful. A kindness emanated from him that during his short life had rarely been revealed. In each shallow breath that Rene drew, he could hear Jonathan calling him away from earth, and the voice brought tears to his eyes.

"Jon," he gasped, stretching his hand out. "Take me home, son."

"He's been saying that for days." That was his sister's voice. Sweet Vida, Jonathan's real mother. She hadn't been able to care for him. She hadn't even had the strength to look at the boy she'd given birth to. Vida had been little more than a girl when Adam Dessain raped her, and Rene had watched helplessly appalled as his sister's stomach had grown with that monster's seed.

Jonathan had had no knowledge of those things. It had been a secret between brother and sister, and not even Dessain had known. A secret, that was, until Dessain had come home and destroyed the lives of more people.

Rene's hatred of the man had eventually spewed onto innocent Jonathan; a boy he'd once called his own, and loved as much as if he truly were, not that Rene had shown it often enough.

"Jonathan," Rene whispered again, searching frantically through the darkness. The angel had gone, but he could feel someone else close by.

"Father," A disembodied voice replied.

He sounded so near, and Rene lifted his hand, blindly searching for his son.

"Jonathan."

Weeping. He heard a man's voice weeping, then strong arms were around him, holding his weak body close.

Rene opened his eyes, pulling back from the stark reality of his dreams, and found himself staring into the sad eyes of the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

"Who are you?"

The woman stretched out one hand to his and grasped it.

"Hello, Rene," Mirela said softly, her eyes damp as she watched Rand carefully release his ailing father.

"Where is Jonathan?" Rene asked weakly.

"Father?"

Rene turned his eyes to a never forgotten face, so alike to Jonathan that no one had ever suspected there was any difference in their blood. "Randolf."

His son's eyes were red and swollen. Rand looked like the frightened boy that Rene had not seen in ages. Perhaps not since Rene had confronted him after Jonathan met his end beneath a guillotine.

Rene was glad to see Rand's face now, and the son he'd been estranged from for a good eight years.

"I didn't know," Rand whispered. "I didn't know that you were ill, Father."

"It's alright son."

Rene had no will to fight him any longer. Such heartbreak, his children. He'd never meant to tear his boys apart. Never meant to disown Jonathan and ruin his chance to be a good man. All Rene had been able to see in Jonathan was Adam Dessain and the cruelty that his son would surely possess.

"I loved him," Rene cried, grasping Rand's arm. "I loved him just as much as I love you."

"Father, rest," Rand choked out. He stared in disbelief at his father's pallor. He looked dead already, and were it not for his eyes and distinguished nose, Rand would not have believed him to be the same man.

Rand remembered his father as a quiet, soft spoken man who doffed his hat at at every opportune moment of greeting. Who went to church each Sunday and never missed a choir practice, even though he was not a member.

The man lying here little resembled that man.

"Randolf, who is she?" Rene whispered, his eyes settling behind Rand's shoulder.

"Mirela Purram," Rand replied, and moved slightly so she could come closer. "This is Mirela, Father. We're engaged."

"Engaged?" Rene met the sad eyes of the woman again. He thought he would find comfort in her, if only she would smile. "You're a lovely lass. Why are you marrying my boy?"

Mirela smiled, and Rand chuckled despite the tears. He'd been a fool. Such a fool, and regret made his knees buckle until he had to sit down.

"You must fight this," Rand said, the first hint of anger showing. "We need more time. I'm so sorry, Father."

Rene's eyes closed and he breathed as deeply as possible, which sent his throat into a coughing fit that brought tears to his eyes.

"There is no time," Mirela said quietly. She could already tell that Rene Vallee had accepted his fate, and she had known before she arrived that they could do nothing.

"No," Rand said painfully. He glared at her over his shoulder. "There must be more time. Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

Mirela shook her head. "I..."

"Did you know about him when you left for Paris?"

"No, Rand. It...it doesn't work that way. I can only see what I'm meant to see."

"You can fix him!" Rand said desperately. "If you can see the future then you were meant to save him!"

Mirela's eyes filled with tears and she looked away. "I'm sorry Rand. I can't help your father. It is his time. The vision was only so that you two could have some time to forgive each other."

Fear and anger forced Rand's body to tremble, and he turned back to his father to find him watching the exchange with a fatigued expression.

"She's right, son. I've known for some time now. I can close my eyes and see Jonathan," Rene whispered. "Forgive _her_, Randolf. Whatever she has seen, it is the truth."

"You believe, Monsieur?" Mirela asked softly.

"M'mother," he slurred slightly. "She believed in many things. Superstitious old bat passed every one of her beliefs on to Vida and me. I think my son has chosen his wife well, Mirela. Take care of my...my grandchildren. Be a mother to them."

"I will," Mirela promised, her heart breaking as Rand lost his composure and quietly left the room.

Rand passed by his startled younger sister and his Aunt Vida. For eight years Rand had been estranged from his father. Rene had disowned Jonathan the night Adam Dessain had killed Francine and Derrik Allard, and when Jonathan had returned nine years ago with Rachel and Eli, Rene had refused to take them.

Rand had taken them instead. Ever since then Rand had done his best to shelter them. When Jonathan had faced the executioners block it had been Rand who had gone to Orleans. He had watched, his heart frozen inside his chest as the crowd cheered the death of his brother. A brother who had raped a young girl and shown no remorse until it was too late.

Even Rand had felt disgust for Jonathan when he had visited his cell just hours prior to the execution. Jonathan had snarled and bragged and proven that he was every bit like his natural father.

Yet Rand had met his brothers eyes, as he stood just four feet away from where Jonathan awaited his end. In the last moment before the blade dropped, Jonathan had reached for Rand's hand.

Rand never moved, and to this day he regretted it.

After that, Rand had gone straight to their father's house, still wearing the shirt covered with Jonathan's blood. Rand had flung bitter and accusing words at his father, words which he now regretted along with everything else. Rand knew that his father bore the same guilt, if not more.

"Rand?"

He dried his eyes and turned as Mirela approached him.

"Is he...?"

"He's still alive," she said quietly. Mirela hated that her gift had not been more useful to him. That she could not have seen this a month ago, for it was obvious Monsieur Vallee had been ill for quite some time. Her gift felt like more of a curse than a blessing at the moment, and she wondered if Rand could forgive her for letting him down.

"I'm so sorry Rand."

"I blame myself," Rand whispered, knowing Mirela deserved his apology. He didn't understand that part of her and it frightened him, but at least she had brought him to his father before it was too late. "I should have reconciled with him years ago. My Aunt Vida or Angele, or even Eli could have told me that he was this sick. I would have come."

Even as he said it, Rand knew it was a lie. They had informed him no less than a dozen times that his father was ailing, but each time Rand had come, he and his father had immediately begun to argue. Always over Rachel and Eli. Never Jonathan. Rand had finally stopped coming altogether, and Rand had not mentioned his brother's name to his father since the day after his execution.

"Come back inside," Mirela said, placing her arm around his waist. "You must see him while you still can."

"I can't." Rand dug his heels in, and told her everything. Mirela said nothing, her dark eyes filled with compassion and understanding as he explained that he loved Jonathan no matter what he had done in his life, and now he was losing his father, who meant more to him than he'd ever realized until the possibility of losing him was so imminent.

Mirela took his jaw into her hands and caressed his cold cheek. "You could not reconcile with Jonathan, Rand. But you must with your father. He needs peace, and so do you."

Slowly she led him back to his father's bedside and leaned against the wall to watch them.

"When is your wedding?" Rene asked, his eyes remaining closed.

Rand's throat tightened. "She only agreed an hour ago. I have not..."

"I will not be there, Randolf. I'm sorry," Rene said. His eyes fluttered open, and he found his son's head bowed, his lips moving in silent prayer. Pain filled his heart, and he grasped Rand about the neck and pulled him close.

"You could be," Mirela interrupted. Both men looked to her, and she found Rand's hand as she came and knelt beside the bed. "There is still time if you wish, Rand."

"You would – you would consent to marrying me now?"

"Yes," Mirela answered proudly. "I would be honored to have your father present."

Rand was torn between joy and fresh grief, but his father's voice strengthened the joy, and Rand knew in his heart that it was the only way.

"This day is for the living," Rene said, his voice a little stronger than before. "Send for my grandchildren, and bring the reverend. We shall worry about tomorrow when it comes."


	14. The Eyes Have It

Were it not for Mirela holding his hand, Rand was sure that he would not have remembered any part of his vows. He pledged himself to her with only his small family present, and it felt right to have his father with him. If three days were all that he was allowed, then he would take them and thank God for each one.

Rene tried to send him home for his wedding night, but Rand had returned to his bedside immediately after seeing the Reverend off.

"I won't leave you," Rand promised his father quietly.

"That lass is a much lovelier sight than I am," Rene replied, his voice weak, but he did not protest any longer. He had such little time, and they spent an hour or more after the ceremony talking in ways that they never had as grown men.

Rand's eyes opened to his father, and at last he understood the fear and reasoning of a man who was a brother as well as many other things. Father, friend, believer.

Rand stayed at his bedside, conscious of Mirela nearby but not intrusive. He loved her more for that as well as for the comfort of knowing she was caring for Rachel and Eli. Hopefully Mirela was also making friends with his Aunt Vida and sister who were both slightly mad, in Rand's opinion.

"You should rest," Rene said again after darkness had fallen.

"_You_ sleep," Rand said stubbornly, though his father had drifted in and out of sleep throughout the day. "I will be here."

When the time comes, Rand thought, I will still be here.

Mirela came in to sit with Rand, saying nothing during the night as he watched his father's uneven breathing with a grim expression. She encouraged him to eat but did not force him when he refused, and finally covered him with a blanket as he drifted off, exhausted.

For three days Rand hardly moved, and while he and his father had said everything between them that needed to be said, Rand was still devastated when his father passed away.

His body shook with grief but the tears remained locked inside when he was finally able to leave the room where his father now rested in peace.

Rand had no remembrance of neighbors and friends coming to pay their respects. He knew nothing except a growing emptiness where his father had once been, and he made silent vows to himself that he would never be angry with those he loved, ever again.

- -

"It's so sad," Lily said, rocking Elisabeth in her lap.

Her mother and Susanna, still dressed in funeral clothes, both nodded.

"I feel so terrible for Monsieur Vallee. I can't imagine how I shall feel when you are gone, Mama."

Emma gave Lily a wan smile but still said nothing.

"I wish Jackson were here," Lily continued, a lump hard in her throat.

Her mother burst into tears and Lily closed her eyes, sorry that she had made her mother cry.

"Will you write to him, Lily?" Emma sobbed. "Please. Ask him to come home."

"Of course, Mama," Lily said softly.

"You must," she whispered, her heart aching. Emma knew though, that the chance of a letter reaching Jackson was slim. No one knew precisely where Jackson was, and surely New York was a big city. It seemed hopeless.

Lily gave Elisabeth to Susanna and hugged her mother before going outside. It hurt to see her mother so upset, but she knew that her father would be there to comfort her, as only he could. Lily gave a wistful smile at the thought of someday having a man there for her, then scolded herself for even contemplating it.

Men in London thought she was crazy, though part of that was Lily's own fault, as much as it was Duncan's. Lily knew that Duncan had smeared her name, but her actions had enforced the image he had conveyed to society. If she had managed herself better, Duncan would have been the one who heard 'shame' as he walked down the streets for even so much as whispering something offensive about a young girl.

Duncan had dispelled the rumors of their engagement by saying Lily had made those assumptions herself, and his brothers had stood behind him. Lily had been too furious to try and defend herself, and Jackson had only thrown fuel on the fire by beating Duncan into the earth.

That had cast a bad light on the entire Talbot family, so Lily had stepped away from the glaring light of society to allow time to weather away the ruined image. A new scandal had undoubtedly pulled the attention away from the Talbots by now, though there would always be whispers. Just as there would always be a wide berth that Londoners gave her, men in particular.

With one exception now, Lily thought wryly as she spied Anthony lounging against a tree on the back lawn, writing in some sort of notebook. Though it had not been Anthony's idea to accompany her on countless missions for her grandmother, he had done so with a surprisingly cheerful outlook.

Perhaps Anthony had always been so congenial and she'd never noticed before.

Lily walked to him now, seeing his half smile before he glanced up from his notebook.

"Would I distract you if I sat down?"

Wordlessly Anthony moved some papers aside, giving Lily room to share the coat he was sitting on. Distracting? Anthony thought to himself. Lily would be distracting now if she'd been inside the house in a room by herself, thanks to Mrs. Talbot. He cursed Helene for giving him ideas about Lily. Anthony had dreamed of her nearly every night this past week, and not always while he was asleep. He thought about her when she wasn't around, and he gazed at her like a lusting boar when she was. Everything about Lily was new and different, and Anthony could hardly believe he was having these thoughts about Jackson's sister.

Lily tried not to peek as Anthony scribbled, but she could hear the strain of a song occasionally hummed beneath his breath. It sounded far too enchanting to resist.

"_Beautiful moon, come sleeping down to me?" _Lily read over his shoulder.

Anthony stopped, his eyes refocusing as he came back to earth. "Just a few random lines that have been begging to be put down."

"Sing them for me," Lily pleaded. "In your own rhythm."

Anthony complied, and sang three more lines that had wrapped themselves in his mind, finding her eyes on him to be unsettling. Never before had Anthony been shy or embarrassed to sing, but Lily had said enough negative things about his music in the past that he was a little protective of his work around her.

"It's lovely," Lily said, making Anthony wonder if her cruelty in the past had only been her armor. "What are they for?"

"Just words. Perhaps one day they shall have a place. For now they are just random ideas."

Lily settled back against the tree and Anthony resumed writing, humming the melody again that surely had no place in an opera. Erik didn't write about moons and beauty, and her father wrote of his children, Erik in particular. Anthony's music was still beautiful, and she wanted to ask him if he'd play it for her once it was completed.

Instead Lily allowed her mind to drift away from his music and to the man himself, and she asked a question that took Anthony quite by surprise.

"My father?" he echoed. "I see him more often than I would like."

"Yes, but how often?" Lily persisted.

"He makes it a point to harass me at least twice a year."

"That often?" Lily was surprised. She didn't really think Anthony saw his father at all. The little that he mentioned the Duke of Montagu had never been particularly nice.

"My father still wishes to pass on his ducal obligations to me. I have no desire to be part of that world."Anthony declared vehemently.

"The duke has all but publicly claimed you, Anthony. Everyone knows that you are his son," Lily said quietly. "Is there no hope for a truce between you?"

"The last few days have made me consider it," Anthony admitted, "but I will not accept his heritage. The idea repulses me immensely."

"I really don't blame you for that. Society can be cruel," Lily replied, her tone distant.

"Yes," Anthony responded, closing his notebook to give her his full attention.

But Lily revealed nothing more, and instead returned to Anthony's past.

"Do you get along with him at all?"

"No." Anthony's lips quirked, but he answered her question. "We have an uneasy and reserved acquaintance. It would be foolish for me to ever want more. He may have sired me, but the duke is not a warm and caring man. He is a blustery old lecher who still fancies himself young and vigorous, when in fact he is barely ten years younger than your grandmother."

"He doesn't look that old," Lily said doubtfully. "He looks very distinguished."

"Please do not comment on our shared traits," Anthony said wryly. "I might retch onto your dress."

Anthony watched as she arranged her skirts, self preservation keeping her from commenting more on his father. But Anthony knew that he sounded like a bastard, when in fact it was his father's own actions that kept Anthony distant from him. Honor and respect were codes the so called nobility lived by, but Anthony did not think his father had an ounce of either one.

"Fairchild doesn't care about me," Anthony found himself saying before he could stop. Lily's eyes widened and she turned to look at him, silently encouraging him to continue. "His first duchess was fifteen when he married her. Alexander Fairchild believes a duchess should be the very essence of innocence and beauty. He also likes girls who are significantly younger than he is. Her name was Catherine, and she died after...," Anthony paused, realizing what avenue he had started down, but Lily was waiting for him to continue, "...after a fifth consecutive miscarriage."

Lily looked away, wounded at the brief pity in his eyes.

"His second duchess, Margaret, died in a similar fashion," Anthony said quietly. "No father in the ton would sacrifice his daughter to him after that. He began preying on opera singers and actresses, my mother included. Thankfully she had enough sense to remain independent, not that he would have offered to marry her. I have one sister that he subtlety acknowledges, much as he does with me, and I know one day her dreams of belonging to his world will be crushed. A son is useful to him, a mere girl is nothing. Angela thinks he will take her to Montagu with him once she finishes school."

Anthony met Lily's eyes, a touch of sadness resting in them before he looked away.

"Angela thinks he is the one who pays for her schooling, but it was her mother who came to me, asking for my help."

"You don't share the same mother?"

"No. Her mother is still alive."

"I had forgotten you had a sister," Lily said softly.

"Sisters. Plural. I just do not know any of the others. As far as I know, Alexander commanded that all of them be named after him in some way. The letter, 'A', comes to mind."

"How arrogant," Lily laughed. "To have multiple children and not claim them, nor be part of their childhood, and yet expect divine obedience! I cannot believe that you share his blood. Your mother must have been a wonderful influence on you."

"Yes," Anthony agreed, his fingers clutching the little book tightly.

Lily's eyes were drawn to it, and to Anthony's hands, large and lightly sprinkled with black hair. Lily looked away, embarrassed when he caught her staring.

"Erik said that he has heard your mother sing." Lily said to cover the moment.

Anthony's head jerked back slightly. "When?"

"He didn't say. Just that she was serenading a manager at the Opera Populair and he...," Lily hesitated, knowing her brother would not want her to reveal anything, "...he overheard her from his box. He said she was magnificent."

"Ah, she was that," Anthony said, smiling in spite of the sudden ache in his throat. "I would give anything to hear her sing again, especially something of mine."

Lily felt her face heat in discomfort, and her mind raced with a hundred things she ought to say, and more that she knew she shouldn't.

"Your mother would be proud of you," she finally said, barely able to speak.

Feeling she had intruded enough, Lily patted Anthony's shoulder and crossed the lawn, unaware of three sets of eyes on her, one brown, and two blazingly green.


	15. A Question For Anthony

Mirela stood uncertainly at the top of the stairs, wondering which room to go into. It was the first day she had been back inside Rand's house since she had left over a month ago. Mirela had spent the last night here in Rand's arms. She wanted that again, but didn't know if he would welcome it so soon after the funeral.

"Mirela?"

Mirela jumped, not hearing Rachel come up behind her. The girl had not been able to stop smiling, even though the funeral had drawn a few tears for the grandfather she had barely known. Rachel was very happy that Mirela had come, and Eli was the same. They had missed her as much as she had missed them.

"Rachel," Mirela said, pulling the girl against her for a hug. "Where is your brother and uncle?"

"They're still doing the chores. Uncle Rand usually finishes by now, but he's moving slower."

"He's tired, _chavi_. Go on to bed. I'll wake you in the morning for breakfast."

Rachel smiled shyly. "Can I help?"

"Of course," Mirela replied, and kissed her cheek before she let her go.

Making her mind up, Mirela entered Rand's bedroom and found the nightdress she'd worn over a month ago neatly folded on a chair beside the bed. Likely Rachel's doing, but it brought a smile to her lips and she wondered if Rand had kept it there. Mirela changed quickly and waited for Rand, knowing immediately when he entered the room that she should not have been expecting a wedding night.

"Mirela...," Rand said weakly. "I..."

"Like it was for me, now it is too soon for you," Mirela said gently.

Rand closed his eyes as her arms went around him and he drew her near in the moonlight. For forty some odd nights he had lain alone in his bed and thought of her. Dreamed of her. Now she was here but his mind was too shattered with pain to do anything about it.  
Yet Mirela understood, and did nothing to encourage him as she helped him undress and lay with her body nestled against his.

"I wish that I had known him better," Rand whispered, tears escaping between the pillow and her face.

"So do I," Mirela replied softly.

"I was foolish. We both were."

His sob caught her off guard, as did his sudden and hard embrace.

"I love you," Rand said, his breath frenzied in her ear. "I love you, Mirela. Never let me go a single day without telling you that."

Mirela tightened her arms around Rand's bare back, enjoying the way he crushed her to him, knowing his heart was torn yet he could still feel desire. But Mirela only held him, listening to his breathing in the darkness.

Rand was asleep within moments, his mind needing rest as much as his body. Mirela lay in his arms, a smile on her face at the prospect of being a bride, and an ache in her heart for her new husband.

- -

Rand opened his eyes as light streaked through his bedroom window. He felt Mirela beside him as he had all through the night, and carefully rolled over, trying not to disturb her but found she was already awake.

"Good morning," Rand murmured, edges of grief still present on his face.

Mirela smiled and moved closer to him, feeling absurdly shy. "Good morning, husband."

Surprise lit Rand's face for a moment at the endearment, and his lungs ached with a private joy as his heart swelled. "My wife," Rand whispered, kissing the top of her head. "My beautiful, sweet wife. I love you."

Mirela tilted her face up for his kiss, their hearts racing at the touch of tongues and groans of pleasure. Rand pushed Mirela onto her back and ran his hands through her long black hair, bringing her closer as his lips ran along her skin. Rand's desire, now unsurpassed, grew steadily as he felt her body surrender to him.

"Mirela," Rand whispered against her cheek.

Mirela's hands slid up Rand's back, caressing his skin and exploring the sculpted edges of his ribs.

"You are the most beautiful woman," Rand said, his eyes drawn to hers. "Thank you."

"For what?" Mirela inquired, slightly amused.

"Everything. Absolutely everything."

Outside a rooster crowed, and they both became aware of someone moving around in the hallway. They kissed again, lingering together in bed as long they dared with two curious adolescents in the house.

Rand dressed and went outside with Eli, leaving Mirela to dress and prepare breakfast with Rachel. Rand's thoughts were muddled as they turned the horses out and fed them. In the morning light he still felt hollow and numb, but the promise of his new wife was a comfort Rand was grateful for. Rand knew that his father was proud of him, and that he had been loved.

It was a consolation knowing that his father had died in peace, whispering Jonathan's name as he met him in the next world.

- -

"So you don't know where Jackson is?" Lily asked questioned Anthony.

He shook his head. "I'm sorry. He didn't tell me."

"Well how am I supposed to ask him to come home if I don't know where he is?" Lily complained.

"Lily-" Erik began, but she cut him off with a narrow eyed stare.

"Jackson will come home once he hears how sorry I am," Lily insisted, "and once he realizes how much we all miss him."

"Not," Erik said, holding his hand up when she opened her mouth, "not if he is truly intent on making a name for himself."

"Erik is right," Helene said, her cane accidentally striking an unsuspecting house cat's tail as she came into the room. "Jackson's a man now, and he has to follow his own dreams."

"Yes, but does he have to follow them in America?" Lily asked, exasperated.

"He'll write soon enough," Erik said patiently. "Jackson won't be able to resist throwing his adventures in your face, Lily."

Lily turned away, disheartened and annoyed. She needed to contact him somehow. The funeral the day before had made her realize how fragile life could be. Even if Monsieur Vallee had been an older man, it had still disturbed her to see Rand weeping so quietly as they lowered his father's coffin.

"I'm sorry," Anthony said again, but Lily only nodded once over her shoulder and walked outside.

Anthony waited several moments, his heart telling him to follow Lily, but common sense begging him not to. In the end, he ignored all but his heart, and followed Lily outside.

Erik watched as Anthony Favero practically chased Lily from the house. With a scowl he rose and made his way across the room.  
"Not so fast, young man." Grandmother Talbot, who up to that point had been delighted by the turn of events, had her cane pointed directly at his chest. "Where do you think you're going?"

"I'm -"

"Sit down and visit with me," she commanded, then nudged Erik sharply in the arm.

Helene was no fool. She knew that Erik thought to play the protective older brother. Well that wouldn't do. She had her own plans for Anthony Favero, and nothing was going to stop them.

"Sit!" Helene realized immediately after Erik did so that she had nothing to say to him, so she plucked a book from the side table and tossed it at him. "Read to me," she ordered.

Erik stared. "You want me to read to you?" he asked slowly.

"That's what I said!"

Muttering beneath his breath, Erik lifted the book and read the title. _Paul Clifford._ "Perfect. By the third page we should both be asleep."

Grandmother Talbot thumped her cane impatiently. Erik cleared his throat twice and began.

"_It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents..."_

_- - _

Anthony felt as if he had watched the downfall of a warrior queen in recent days. Fierce, guarded Lily sat with a solemn face in the small rose arbor, hidden away among the blossoms that twined over the roof like a love-torn fairy. The setting was almost magical, and entirely secluded. Two reasons why he should not have taken the first step inside, nor the second.

"Lily?"

She turned her face away immediately. "Please go away."

Anthony's heart squeezed inside as he watched her brush away tears, and he sat down beside her. "I'm sorry to pry," he said quietly.

"Then don't," Lily whispered.

Anthony shifted uncomfortably, and tried for a teasing tone. "Where is your brother when you need him? I fear you are stuck with me this time."

Lily glanced at him, then drew her feet to her chest and huddled against the wall. "Erik is enjoying the wit of Grandmother Talbot, I'm sure."

"I meant Jackson," he said lightly. "He was your confidant long before Erik."

"Yes, and he couldn't keep a secret, could he?" Lily snapped.

Anthony shrugged, "No, he couldn't. Everyone has flaws. But Jackson has a bigger heart than anyone I've ever met. You obviously don't understand the depth of his devotion. He didn't tell your father about your – situation – to hurt you, Lily. He did it out of concern and love. Someone had to protect you, and you know that he's never had the heart to defy your father."

Lily closed her eyes and pictured her carefree brother, who in the last couple of years had been burdened with so many secrets, all of them hers. Jackson hadn't been able to hold under the pressure, and whiskey had been his escape as much as morphine had been hers.

"Lily, Jackson will come home," Anthony reassured her. "It may not be soon, but he will eventually return."

"Did he leave because of me?" Lily mumbled, almost afraid to voice the question.

Anthony took a long time in answering, but decided he would not lie to her. Especially when Lily was being so honest with herself. "Yes and no. You drove him mad, that's to be sure, but that is not the only reason he left. Jackson left because he is twenty five and still living with his parents. Because he has never mastered his vocation, and he doesn't believe he has any sort of talent or skills to make it on his own." Anthony put his arm around Lily when her chin touched her chest, and he gave her a shoulder a slight squeeze. "Jackson has always felt he lived in Erik's shadow, and he feels that he needs to prove himself."

Lily scowled and tossed Anthony a pointed look. "Why do men always have to prove they are better than their fathers?"

Anthony shook his head. "Jackson loves your father. He doesn't feel he must be better than him, or even better than Erik. He just wants to prove that he is capable of being their equal. Call it a survival instinct. Every man has one. I would be willing to wager that most women do." Anthony squeezed Lily's shoulder once more then took his arm away from her. "I would even bet that you have that instinct."

"Absurdity," Lily muttered, though it struck a chord within her. She'd never been brave enough to follow her own vocation - singing. At one time she had wanted it, then the attention of Duncan had pulled her away from her training and into a dark turmoil. The one attempt she'd made to return, Anthony's production, she had failed.

"May I ask you something?"

"Of course," Anthony answered, though his heart thudded in his chest.

"Why did you choose Georgianna to be your diva?"


	16. A Kiss and a Potentially Awkward Moment

Anthony shifted nervously, biting his bottom lip as he tried to think of a way to explain to Lily why he had hired Georgianna instead of her to star in his opera. "It was too soon for you after your...loss. Your Grandmother came to see me in private before your audition.. She asked me to consider you for future roles, but only when you were ready."

Anthony waited for Lily's anger, and was relieved when it didn't come. Lily only stared at the floor, her brow knit in frustration.

"So it wasn't because I'm a horrible singer?"

"God no," Anthony laughed. "You should know very well how good you are. How can you even think that?"

Lily shrugged slightly. "Did you have to hire Georgianna instead of me? She's so...pretty."

Anthony thought of Georgianna's curves and painted face, and the false red tint of her hair. Some men might find that attractive, and he'd been called a fool for not taking her offer to have his sheets warmed, but Georgianna Rutherford had never stirred any desire in him. Anthony wasn't even particularly pleased to have hired her, but she'd been the best out of all of his other auditions.

Lily's had been magnificent, but Anthony had known immediately that she would not be able to handle the rigors of the stage. She'd been far too fragile. And she'd thrown one magnificent fit.

"Georgianna needs work," Anthony finally conceded, "but her voice will mature one day and she will be a diva. Not mine. I'm replacing her next season because she threw water on my music in anger, and I cannot abide someone who has no respect for music."

"Mr. Favero -"

"Please call me Anthony. Or Fairchild even."

"Fairchild!" Lily grinned at him impishly. "Have you decided to claim your dukedom then?"

"No, but I made you smile," Anthony said with a wink.

Lily smiled warmly at him, yet as silence settled around them she became aware that Anthony had stopped smiling, and was studying her rather intently. Lily had never been this close to Anthony's face before, and suddenly she noticed his eyes weren't plain brown like hers. His eyes had tiny flecks of orange, almost russet within them that reminded Lily of English river rocks. And he had one black curl across his forehead that called her fingers to it like a siren. Lily also found it intriguing to realize that at twenty seven, Anthony's hair was already starting to gray.

Anthony did not breathe as Lily brushed the lock of hair off his forehead, and though Lily's hand immediately returned to her lap, the tensity remained. Lily remembered all of the fuss her family had made of late about her being alone in Anthony's presence, and suddenly she wondered if maybe she was in danger. Her grandmother _had_ mentioned Anthony staring at her backside, a thought that now frequently wandered into her mind at the most inopportune times.

"Are you going to kiss me?" Lily whispered, her question filled with a little bit of hope.

Anthony's eyes widened in surprise, and she saw a muscle in his face twitch. Slowly his gaze drifted down to her mouth, and Lily felt a spring of nervous excitement descend into her body.

"It wouldn't be right," Anthony murmured, though he had been thinking of doing just that for several days.

"Says who?" Lily countered, undettered now that curiosity had gotten the best of her.

"My conscience," Anthony answered softly. "You are my best friend's sister and I-"

"Please don't finish that sentence." Lily looked away, her face turning red. "I have only kissed one man in my life. You are right though – it wouldn't be right. Not after all that I have done to my family."

"Look at me, Lily."

Cautiously Lily met Anthony's eyes, finding his gaze filled with concern and friendship. "One kiss would not condemn our souls. It would not make your family disown you, as I'm certain that nothing could. But I would not be able to hold my head up if I hurt you in any way."

Lily lowered her eyes once more, and Anthony hated the shame there. He hated the self loathing and defeat that had reduced this poor girl first to cruelty and now to emptiness.

Before Anthony could change his mind, he tipped Lily's head back and leaned forward, brushing his lips across hers. Lily's hands went to Anthony's shoulders for balance, but ended up locked around his neck.

A minute passed with that light kiss, gentle and sweet, until Lily's mouth inadvertently opened and Anthony's tongue brushed past her lips and touched hers.

"Oh!" Lily breathed, sliding her hands into Anthony's hair.

Anthony put his arms around her back and deepened the kiss even as a warning sounded in his brain that he should stop. If Lily's father or brother found them, he would be a dead man, but it did not keep him from urging her closer in his arms and taking the sweetness of her kiss.

"Lily," Anthony whispered, astonished at the inferno that suddenly swept through him.

"A-Anthony," she chattered breathlessly, pulling back to look in his eyes.

"I'm sorry. Did I frighten you?" Anthony asked Lily, concerned over his indiscretion.

Lily nodded, her cheeks turning pink, and he leaned forward to press a chaste kiss on her forehead. Anthony pulled Lily against him in an embrace that was a little less platonic.

"I am honored to be the second man to kiss you," Anthony said softly, though his heart was pounding in his chest. Anthony wasn't certain if it was the forbidden temptation that called to him, or if it was the girl herself who tasted so sweet he desperately wanted another drink of her.

"How many girls have you...kissed?"

"Not as many as you might think," Anthony chuckled, "though more tried than succeeded in pursuit of a duke's bastard hoping that someday I would be claimed."

Lily's eyes flickered over Anthony's face, then settled back on his mouth. "No future duchess?"

Anthony's kiss had stirred Lily's heart. It sparked something inside her body she hadn't felt even with Duncan. Lily's head was dizzy from the scent of Anthony's cologne and the realization that his arms were still tight around her. Desire, innocent, yet with a seductive pull that tugged at her young heart flooded through her. The world of Duncan's cruelty and Jackson's leaving seemed distant, as did the memory of her brutal loss. Lily felt safe and wanted and at peace.

"None yet," Anthony finally answered, looking deep into Lily's eyes. "Is there no one who has reached your heart again, Lily? I remember a time when you were a force to be reckoned with, before you had sharpened your tongue with bitterness."

"No. I'm...I'm trying to change," Lily said softly, guilt making her features tight once more. "I've been so angry with Jackson, when I was really angry with myself. I've been horrible to him, and now I'm mad at him for leaving the way that he did. But if he would just come home..."

"He will," Anthony replied gently. "Someday."

Lily looked up at him, utterly defenseless and needing guidance. But that was not the only thing Anthony wanted to give her. Not now. Not with her arms around his neck and the warmth of her leg burning against his. It had been over a year since Anthony had been with a woman, but even with the absence he knew that he had never felt this way while holding someone in his arms. Lily seemed to feel a change as well because her hand stroked the back of Anthony's neck, urging him closer again.

There were so many types of kisses. Chaste ones, which would have been perfect but perhaps mistaken for pity. Sweet ones, still innocent, yet capable of sparking desire. And then there were passionate kisses. Anthony hadn't been prepared to give Lily a kiss of passion.

The sort of kiss that got a man into trouble, and had him lifting Lily and placing her in his lap. Anthony kissed her hard, his tongue utterly within her mouth this time and hands no longer holding her gently.

Anthony dared not explore Lily, even he had better sense at the moment than to do that, but he gripped Lily tightly and squeezed her. It was the kind of kiss that made a woman melt.

Lily trembled, and not only with desire.

"Anthony," Lily whispered, his name unsteady on her lips. She leaned back slightly to look at him, but did not meet his eyes.

"Lily," Anthony answered, bringing his hand to her face, and stroking the hollow area of her cheek.

Lily covered his hand, and Anthony stared at their hands interlaced. The contrast of her pale, beautiful hands, pinkened at the end of each finger brought to mind other places that might be pink on her body. Lily wiggled, and Anthony closed his eyes and groaned.

"Oh!" Lily's movements stopped abruptly as she felt him hard beneath her. Anthony opened his eyes to find Lily's entire face red. "I think perhaps..."

"Yes," Anthony agreed quickly, though Lily did not move and he did not let her go.

"Anthony..."

"Shh," Anthony whispered, and eased back against the wall of the arbor. Anthony brought Lily's head down on his shoulder and shifted her so that she was not in such an awkward position. "I'm sorry if I frightened you. I would never hurt you."

Lily felt a burst of panic at the sound of the back door opening and then slamming shut, and she leapt from Anthony's lap.

"That...that..." Lily sputtered, immediately aware of what she'd been doing and with whom. She'd even felt his... "Oh, God..."

"Lily?" A voice called.

Erik.

Erik was calling her. Anthony's eyes widened as Lily raked a nervous hand through her hair and turned a full circle in the gazebo.

"Calm down," Anthony said quietly.

Lily turned to him, her eyes wide with fright. "Calm down?" she echoed, glancing down at his lap. "Your...your..."

"_Lily?"_

"Your brother is going to come in here," Anthony said, standing up and hoping his bulge was less noticeable. At least Lily wasn't staring at it. "Lily, I'm sorry. Look at me."

She did, not finding a lecherous notion in his eyes. Lily took a deep, calming breath. "No...no...I'm sorry. I...I did enjoy it kissing you. Thank you..."

_"LILY!"_

"Go away!" Lily shouted, and immediately Erik's footsteps were heard coming in their direction.

"I'm sorry," Anthony repeated, backing away from her. "Forgive me."

"There's nothing-"

"Why in God's name didn't you answer me?" Erik snapped from behind her.

Lily turned, irritated. "Because I don't need a babysitter, and I don't need a spy. If you want someone to watch, then go find your fiancée."

Lily marched past Erik's stunned expression, gratefully leaving Anthony to explain any questions her brother might have. But Lily wasn't thinking about Erik in any case. She was thinking only of that kiss, Anthony's lips, his tongue inside her mouth. Lily let her mind wander even further to thoughts of Anthony caressing her, and to other troublesome thoughts that were certain to get a woman in trouble.

- -

Sorry it took so long. I've been busy with work and lazy at home. Thank you for being such faithful reviewers and readers!


	17. Repeat Performance With an Older Man

Mirela prepared for bed on what was now her fourth night as a bride. Rand had seemed more like himself that evening, teasing Rachel, talking with Eli, and watching his wife. Mirela had felt his eyes upon her in the small kitchen, and in the living room, and later on the landing as she went upstairs to put Rachel to bed.

Mirela felt deep within her heart that Rand would make love to her before the sun rose on her fifth day as a bride.

"Mirela Vallee," she whispered to herself in the mirror. "Madame Vallee. Madame Mirela Vallee."

Mirela could hardly believe the blush that greeted her own reflection, smiling like a young girl in love rather than the full grown woman that she was. Slowly Mirela brushed out her hair and left it loose down her back.

"Beautiful."

Rand's voice made her turn, and she watched with wide eyes as he approached her.

"Stunning."

Mirela felt her face heat more, his words and tone like a hot caress against her skin. Rand held his hand out and she stood, her eyes searching his for clues of his intent.

"I need you," Rand said, brushing his knuckles over her cheek. "But only if you are ready."

"I am," Mirela whispered, touched that he was willing to wait, even when the law said that she belonged to him in every way. "Make love to me, Rand. I need you too."

Rand's eyes grew dark as he pulled her close and kissed her. "Sweet," he said softly. "You taste of sweetness."

"Mmm," Mirela replied, melting as his hands caressed her back. "Yes, sweet. You taste sweet too."

Rand smiled as his head dipped down to Mirela's neck, pressing a kiss along the side and tasting more of her. She smelled of the herbs she'd been tending in the garden. Rosemary, he thought, pushing the robe from her shoulders and memorizing the sight of her in only a thin, lacy gown.

"I love you," Rand told her, his hands trembling as he unbuttoned his shirt. "I need to be against your skin."

Mirela's hands found his chest, bare and covered with thick, dark hair. Rand's eyes closed as her fingernails lightly dug into his flesh.

"I need to be inside of you," Rand said hoarsely. "I need to be part of you."

- -

Mirela closed her eyes as Rand caressed her arms. His touch brought a shiver, and a feeling of possessiveness entered her heart. Rand belonged to her as much as she did to him. That feeling of unity made Mirela bold, and she stepped forward, allowing their bodies to touch.

"I love you," she said, helping Rand to remove the rest of his shirt. Mirela ran her hands over his muscular shoulders, a golden tan unlike her own natural dark color. "You are a beautiful man."

Rand chuckled and captured Mirela's hands, pulling her even closer. "No one has ever said that to me before."

"None of your mature women?" Mirela asked teasingly.

"Not a single one," Rand agreed.

Rand released Mirela's hands, caressing her arms and shoulders again before letting his hands trail down and brush lightly over her breast.

"Is that alright?" Rand asked, his tone gentle.

"With you," Mirela whispered, "everything is alright."

Rand kissed her again, his mouth certain and sure as she returned the kiss. Mirela's hands explored Rand's back and buttocks, rubbing against his skin with a sweet friction that made him weak. Rand didn't realize her intentions until Mirela had slipped the gown from her shoulders and stood in the faint lamplight, a proud woman, unashamed of her beauty.

Mirela's hands went to Rand's trousers then, and he stood rather helplessly as she unbuttoned them and slipped her hand inside.

Rand surged forward on his toes, digging them into the bare wooden floor as pleasure radiated from his body.

"Mirela," Rand groaned, putting his hands on her shoulders for balance but doing nothing to stop her. She explored the length of him, awed at the sensation of pleasure she received from touching him, and from giving him pleasure. Mirela had always given with her touch, but she had never taken her own pleasure with a man.

Never before had this act felt special and beautiful, but Mirela knew with Rand it would always be that way.

He drew her curious hand away and slowly lifted her from the floor, carrying her to the bed with love in his eyes. She knelt in the center, watching as Rand removed the last of his clothing and joined her. Mirela gave her soul to him, for he already owned her heart.

They discovered each other, slowly, with great passion and need circulating through their veins. Murmuring words of love, Rand encouraged Mirela to lie down as he kissed her, wanting to explore each inch of her skin. He promised himself that this was something he would do each time they made love.

When Rand parted Mirela's legs, she was unresistant and eager. Her hips arched from the bed as he slowly teased her, and her eyes flew open at the sensation of pleasure. It had never felt like this before. There was always pain and sometimes blood, but Mirela's body had never prepared itself for a man's touch.

"My wife," Rand murmured as he placed his erection against her. He waited until she'd drawn her legs up around him, and slowly he began to stretch her. He felt her jerk in startled pleasure, though he had to be certain it was not pain. "Did I hurt you?"

"No," Mirela gasped. "It feels beautiful."

Rand sank further within her, feeling her passage clench unwillingly around him and pulling him to the brink of climax.

"I'm going to move," he whispered, and she nodded her consent.

Rand laced his fingers with hers and withdrew, then pitched headlong back into her body. Each sound, each breathless word of wonder was like a melody to him. Mirela clung to him, pleading with him as he whispered words of love and lovemaking.

For the first time since Mirela had returned, Rand felt as if all was right with the world again. His every heartbeat matched hers, her every moan became part of him, and in the final moments of sweet oblivion, those sounds became shared between them as a pulsing, lengthy climax over took them, setting their spirits free into the dying light of the night.

- -

Outside the crickets chirped and a breeze flowed over their sweating skin from the open window. Too hot to be curled against one another, they lay on the bed with the blankets kicked to the floor, each wishing for a glass of cold water but unwilling to move to fetch it.

"If you will allow me to rest," Rand said, his tone weak and breathless, "I will do that again...but first...I must rest."

Mirela chuckled, tracing the contours of his stomach with one finger. "Not a young man anymore?"

"I find that at the moment I cannot deny it," Rand admitted.

Mirela rolled to her side and stared at his profile, shadowed by the guttering lamplight. It pleased her to find his face slightly creased – not wrinkled – and certainly not unattractive. Lines graced his forehead from where his eyebrows had been raised in laughter, and there were deep lines at his mouth from the smile that he frequently wore. It pleased her immensely to find herself married to a man that could smile so often that there would be permanent marks upon his face.

Rand was solemn now, although the sadness that had worried his features wasn't present at the moment.

"What are you thinking of?"

Rand gave a slight shake of his head, bringing his mind back to his beautiful, and nude, wife.

"I was wondering about your family," he said carefully.

"My family?" Mirela repeated, propping up on one elbow. "Why would you think of them at a time like this?"

"I've been thinking of them for a long time," Rand admitted. "Wondering why they didn't...help you."

Mirela was quiet for a long time, and he could see her mind working to come up with an answer. Erik had told him a little more about his time with the tribe, and some of its customs. Rand found that he couldn't understand them, especially why her father and mother had not helped her when Rulv decided to sell her.

"I am permanently exiled from my people," Mirella finally answered. "In their eyes I am a disgrace for betraying my husband and running away with Erik. My father turned his back on me, and my mother would not look at me. But I understood quite well what would happen to me when I left the camp with Erik. I knew that even if they loved me, they would have no choice but to treat me as was their custom. I have never blamed them for any part of my life. I still love them, and I am sure that they love me."

Rand didn't understand this either, but Mirela seemed to have accepted her past. He realized his culture probably made little sense to her, even though she had distanced herself from everything that was familiar to her.

"I saw my mother two years ago," Mirela said, her eyes closing for a moment. "In Paris. I used to travel to the _Goutte d'Or_and look through the markets. There were always Gypsies selling wares and the occasional fair or sideshow. My mother was standing with a group of older women, talking and laughing."

"Did she speak to you?" Rand asked softly.

"No. It would have been terrible for her if she had been caught. But she did look at me, and I could tell that she had missed me very much. I was their only child," Mirela whispered, her throat tightening up. "Sometimes I dream about her, and I know that she dreams about me. Sometimes she speaks to me in my dreams, and I can feel her pain."

Rand turned to his side, breathing slowly as he stared at her. "Was that how you saw my father?"

"No. I was awake when that happened. I was kissing you, and I felt _your_ pain."

"But I didn't even know yet," Rand replied, his face filled with confusion.

"If your heart had been open, then you would have. I admit that mine has been closed for a long time. I usually only feel and see things in my dreams, but since I've left Paris I feel so free, so at peace."

Mirela rolled and stretched, thrusting her breasts towards the ceiling. Rand wasn't certain about her beliefs, but he knew with absolute certainty that he would gladly worship her. She was so beautiful. Instead of touching her though, he pulled his mind back to the conversation.

"What about our lives?" Rand asked, his heart tripping in sudden anxiety. "Will we be happy? Will we have a long life together?"

Mirela sat up and urged Rand to do the same. She took his right palm in her hands and tilted it towards the light.

Embarrassed, Rand snatched it back. "What are you doing?" he asked suspiciously.

Mirela smiled and held out her hand. "I'm going to read your palm."

Rand stared at her for a moment, but she merely waited. "I'm not certain I want to know my future. What if it's something I don't like?"

"There is no changing fate, Rand. There are some people in my culture who are so practiced that they can tell every single thing about a person's life. And it is not always in the palm, nor the heart that we see these things. I was so clouded with judgement when I first encountered you that I failed to see the goodness of your heart."

Mirela kept holding out her hand, and eventually Rand gave in. She seemed so natural and graceful about it that he could not resist allowing her to delve into her mysterious, exotic side with him.

"Ah, your heart line was delayed," she said, smiling privately. "You waited longer than most men to find love, but it seems that you made a wise decision. You will find happiness and joy in this love, and it will be a good marriage."

"It will?"

"Yes," Mirela replied, studying his hand further. "Fate has twisted you around, but it seems you are on the right path. Your life will be long, and you will not have to suffer the loss of your wife." Mirela's eyes flickered up to Rand's, somewhat sad. "That means that I will live longer than you."

Rand pulled his hand away, unnerved by her revelation. "I think that is enough for now," he said firmly.

Mirela smiled mischievously and leaned forward to kiss him. "Oh? But I have one more prediction to give you."

"What is it?"

"I predict," she murmured in a low voice, "that if you have managed to catch your breath, we can have a repeat of tonight's...performance."

"Indeed?"

"Oh, yes, indeed."


	18. Some Phantoms Never Change

Anthony realized Lily was avoiding him, even if Erik wasn't. Every time Anthony turned around, Erik was there, silent, watching. Ever since the day in the rose arbor, when even then the masked man had said nothing, Anthony sensed Erik's renewed suspicion.

The trips into Artenay with Lily had abruptly ceased, as did eye contact with her or even a murmur of conversation. Anthony hadn't especially tried to talk to her or to get her alone, but he knew eventually he would have to say something to dispel the awkwardness between them. He couldn't begin to imagine what she thought of him now, though he did wonder if she would like for him to kiss her again.

Anthony also wondered if he _would_ kiss her, given another chance.

Amazingly, Grandmother Talbot seemed to have stopped her obvious matchmaking, though like Erik Anthony sensed her watching nearly every move that he made.

A week after the kiss, Anthony was ready to leave France. He'd done his duty and informed the Talbots of Jackson's whereabouts, passed on the news of Duncan's scandal, and kissed their daughter. There was really nothing else that could possibly hold him here, unless he considered staying for the festival that the town was still planning.

Anthony first voiced his intentions of leaving at the dinner table, only to have his vague plans thrown into chaos.

"Leaving? So soon?" Emma sounded dismayed. "Oh, Anthony. You must stay a little longer."

"I would not wish to impose," Anthony said, staring at his plate.

"Hmph! You can't leave." Helene sounded distraught, no doubt because her matchmaking had not worked as planned, or perhaps she needed more time. Something Anthony had no desire to give her.

"We will certainly miss your presence." Erik sounded delighted, probably relieved because his guard duties would be put off permanently.

Anthony ignored them all and looked at Lily, returned the gesture for the first time in a week. Hurt flashed in her brown eyes, and her gaze wavered uncertainly, giving the impression that she was still quite confused over their kiss.

"Don't leave yet," Lily said simply, and returned her attention to her food.

Anthony felt himself sink a little into Lily's world, into her heart, and his own tripped inside his chest. Lily said nothing more though, and eventually Anthony nodded his acquiescence.

"Perhaps I will stay through the festival," Anthony said, and tried not to squirm in his chair. Everyone except for Lily was now staring at him, and it made him damn uncomfortable.

"It's certain to be fun," Emma said, her eyes shifting around the table. "Wouldn't you agree, Erik?"

"Fascinating," Erik replied drolly.

Erik caught Anthony's eyes, then lifted his wine glass in a mock salute.

"You will find our small village's festivities interesting, I'm sure, M. Favero. Possibly just as intriguing as London or even Paris, I would think."

"Possibly," Anthony murmured, sensing he was being given a rather transparent hint to go to either one of those cities. Or possibly to somewhere quite a bit warmer. "Nonetheless I will stay. At least through the festival this weekend."

"Good," Helene said, but did not comment more.

Anthony had the sudden, inexplicable thought that Grandmother Talbot could have added much, much more to that statement.

- -

Somehow Lily knew that if she went into the parlor after everyone had gone to bed, Anthony would be there. He had said nothing earlier to indicate it, and he certainly had not invited her to join him, but she had remained in her clothes with the explicit intention of going downstairs if only to peek inside the parlor.

Anthony was there, seated at the piano, but gazing out the open French doors into the moonless night. Silently Lily joined him on the bench, waiting for him to speak and half frightened that he would.

Now that she was there, Lily had no idea what to say to him, not after their kiss, and not after that one awkward moment had turned into many. It would have been best if they had simply laughed it off, or set it in the back of their minds as a moment in time that was to be remembered – but not repeated. Instead they had each grown red with embarrassment every time they were in the same room together, trying their best not to cast furtive glances at one another.

"Thank you for not leaving," Lily said, her voice little more than a whisper. "I am sorry that things have been strange between us."

"It is perfectly natural, is it not? We have known each other for a long time, and we find ourselves in a most awkward dilemma." Anthony finally turned to face her, the light from the room not doing nearly enough to give Lily a glimpse of his expression. "I think we both know it would have been best if I had not kissed you, but I find that I cannot truly regret it. It was a fine kiss."

Lily couldn't help but smile, though it wobbled along with her unsteady heart. "Thank you. Again."

"You are trying to rebuild yourself, Lily. I only hope that I did not hurt you. If I have, then you must tell me and I will try to make amends."

"You didn't hurt me, Anthony. It was a kiss, and I am grateful to have experienced it. I...I rather liked it," Lily admitted, her eyes shifting away from his. "Please don't feel pity for me, and if that was the only reason for the kiss then I wish you would forget that it happened at all."

"It wasn't," Anthony replied, and he captured her hand. "Perhaps I needed it as much as you did. Maybe more. And I doubt that I will ever forget it."

"Can we be friends?" Lily asked timidly. "I know I haven't always been kind to you, and I have deserved everything you've ever said about me..."

"No. You didn't deserve it," Anthony cut in. "I failed to recognize your pain for what it truly was, and for that I am sorry."

"But-"

"You didn't deserve it," Anthony repeated. "I'm sorry. I allowed your peppered insults to weather away at what I struggled to compose. And do you know that I have rewritten entire sections of music thanks to you and your criticisms?"

"You have?" Lily's eyes widened, and then they widened even further as Anthony raised her hand to his lips. "Why would you listen to me?"

"Because sometimes you were right," he admitted. "Though I could never fathom what irritated me so much about your opinions. There are so many people who have strong opinions about my work. But you are not my harshest critic in any case."

"Who is?" Lily whispered.

"I am. Every piece that I write I must constantly change. I find myself writing for my mother when I know very well that most sopranos cannot achieve such mastery of their voice. Not the ones who audition for me anyway."

Lily shifted slightly, feeling an unwelcome flash of jealousy for Anthony's dead mother. Mariabelle Favero had been magnificent, though Lily had only heard of her legend. She had never heard her perform. She felt a sudden longing to be like Mariabelle, free and admired, yet able to turn away even the most ardent of suitors.

"You are a wonderful singer, Lily," Anthony said, noticing her wistful smile. "You just did not give yourself enough training. You stopped too soon."

"Is it too late, do you think?"

"To sing? No, not if you really wish to do so. How long has it been since you trained?"

Lily scoffed, embarrassed to admit she'd given up on her dream so easily. "Nearly three years now. I was young and my head easily turned by other pursuits. I took everything for granted, and now I cannot even imagine trying to get back what I once had. My voice has changed in three years. I still sing, but nothing like I used to do."

"Did your father train you?"

"Oh, no. I had three voice coaches for that. Papa merely taught me to love music and any instrument I wished to pick up." Lily let out a long breath, still aware of her hand in his. "What did you hear when I auditioned for you? The truth, if you please."

Anthony studied Lily's face, the way her eyelashes rested over her cheeks. Her complexion was brighter than when he'd first arrived. She no longer appeared gaunt and depressed, though the last week she had been unnaturally quiet. But he could see the change in her, so different from when she had stood in front of him on a stage and had sung with all her power and pain.

"Beauty and sadness," Anthony answered softly. "It was almost impossible to listen to you sing. I couldn't bear watching your father standing next to me, nor your mother crying, nor Jackson sitting in front of me nearly tearing his own knees off. I would have given you the part if only to make you happy, but I knew you were unprepared for the stress, and for the responsibility. Your Grandmother Talbot had asked me not to hire you, well before you came to audition. I knew when I heard you that she was right."

"And now?" Lily whispered, her throat pained from a lump of emotion.

"I think you can do anything. But you must believe in yourself," Anthony said quietly.

Lily didn't think she had the courage for that. Perhaps she never would. It would be too frightening to put that much faith in herself again.

Lily heard Anthony shift, and glanced up to find him holding his arms out to her. Lily went, surprised and grateful for the sudden, fierce embrace.

"If you decide to audition for me again, I will listen solely for your voice merits and pay no attention to the drama that surrounds your family." Anthony promised her.

Lily lifted her face, smiling at him. "An impossible task, I assure you. No one can ignore my family's drama."

Anthony's lips seemed to hover above hers for endless seconds, but he made no move to kiss her again. Lily could see he thought about it though, and perhaps even wanted to, just as much as she did. Instead he placed a hand around her neck and gently drew her head to rest on his shoulder.

It felt as if someone had suddenly released a bouquet of butterflies within Lily's stomach and they all battered around inside her, fluttering against her heart. Anthony made her feel safe, but he also made her feel a thousand other things.

Still, it was better that he did not kiss her. Just as Lily had known Anthony would be in the parlor after everyone went to bed, she also knew that Erik would be somewhere lurking. If she was not mistaken, she had caught the pale reflection of his mask outside the French doors. It seemed that some habits did not die for her Phantom brother.


	19. Wagers and Prizes

Erik waited until Lily had gone upstairs before he left the darkness of the veranda. Anthony was staring at the piano, a smile upon his face that drew Erik's irritation to a halt.

"She's quite spectacular, your sister," Anthony said without looking up. "I would never hurt Lily, just so you understand."

"Lily is far more fragile than you think."

"She's stronger than you give her credit for," Anthony replied firmly. "But it is good for her to have someone she trusts so well. That is one area where Jackson has always sadly lacked."

Erik shrugged slightly. "My brother has a tender heart. He cannot keep secrets."

"Unlike you," Anthony stated.

"My exact opposite," Erik agreed, pulling the doors closed behind him. "But I admire his life. It was remarkably better than mine."  
Erik did not elaborate and Anthony wisely chose not to pry. He'd been given such a wide array of impressions of this man, yet he still did not feel he'd glimpsed the real Erik. Something dark lurked in him, though it was not as definable as what he could see in Lily. Perhaps it was Erik's own twisted sadness, tempered by the recent happiness he'd found with his family.

And oddly now, there was a measure of respect for Anthony in Erik's eyes that had not been there before. It was certainly not something Anthony expected to find, nor did Erik expect to give.

"You've known Lily for a decade, yet only now have you become...aware of one another?" Erik asked carefully.

"With some help from your grandmother," Anthony said slowly. "But I have been wise to Helene's schemes for some time now. She's crafty, but not subtle."

"No," Erik chuckled. "Not in the least."

They both stood, facing each other warily, a vast amount of uncertainty and tension between them. Erik was glad that at least he knew the little that had transpired in the rose arbor. He alone could understand the sweet significance of a kiss, and he had no desire to belittle his sister for what she'd obviously wanted, perhaps needed, even. Lily was young, but no maiden's blush in her heart. She was, or had been, a cynic. It was pleasing to know that she was still capable of tenderness for a man, despite all that she had been through.

Unexpected, but pleasing, and Erik decided then that he also had no desire to stop Anthony from making her happy, if it were possible.

"Goodnight, M. Favero," Erik finally said, giving him a meaningful look. "I do hope you enjoy the festival. From what I remember, it may be nearly as delightful as one of your mayday customs."

Anthony stared after him a moment, wondering at the abrupt change in his opinion. Or perhaps Erik had been watching all this time, trying to form a concrete one

Anthony never had a chance to tell Erik that he was not interested in Lily in that way, and that the kiss never should have happened in the first place. Anthony had no intentions, now or ever, of having a bride.

And how foolish it would have been to have uttered those words, when he would have been made to eat them only days later.

- -

The summer festival in Artenay had long been Susanna's favorite event. The village had three separate festivals, spread throughout the year but the one in summer made her remember a time that she had longed for most of her adult life, the summers with Erik and her brother, and the fun they'd had together as care free, innocent children. It was only dampened now by her father being rather joylessly involved in the games, a job that he usually loved. And by the fact that it seemed a hundred times hotter this year than it had been in the past.

Susanna was glad though to see Rand introducing Mirela to Madame Dumont with obvious intentions of letting her help with the fortune telling booth. Madame Dumont was already preening. Rand had built up the beauty of his beautiful gypsy woman so much that the entire village had grown increasingly curious about her.

"Erk!" Elisabeth stretched out towards Erik, and Susanna gratefully passed off the happy, chubby girl. "Erk!" she exclaimed again, patting his face with her little hands.

"Are you going to toss a ring today, 'Lisbeth?" Erik asked her, his tone somber as always with the girl.

Elisabeth nodded her head, taking everything that Erik said as very important indeed. "And are you going to have fun?"

She grinned hugely, nonrhythmic applause smattered between her pudgy hands. "Fun!"

"Elisabeth didn't mention that you get to hold her all day, did she?" Susanna asked, laughing when Erik gave a small grunt.

"I do have other things to do than tote your...our...daughter," Erik replied, noticing Susanna smiled at his correction. He had a boyish urge to go through the entire fair and try each booth before involving the children. Erik couldn't recall the last time he'd been this excited about something other than making love to Susanna.

Silently Susanna held her arms out for Elisabeth. "If you should need me, I'll be trying to stay cool beneath the shade tree with Emma and wishing for the lake."

Erik trotted off, an uncommon smile on his face as he greeted familiar people from all around the village's main street. In Russia and Persia, before he'd given in to reclusive urges, he had roamed freely among men at an age when he could defend himself if necessary. But not since he'd been a boy had he ever felt so relaxed and carefree in a crowd.

Most people in Artenay had accepted him, though only a few knew anything of his past beyond . He was an oddity, to be sure, but it seemed that they did not mind the mask when he had so much family behind him, supporting and loving him.

"I'd wager that you don't remember this," a voice said from behind him.

Erik stopped and turned, finding his father holding a heavy rounders ball in his hand, standing in front of a pyramid of milk bottles. Erik smiled. He'd forgotten what else the summer festival had meant for him as a boy. Time spent with Mr. Talbot away from a piano, though the lessons had never really stopped. Erik had not known it was his father teaching him how to throw, patting his shoulder in congratulations, and giving praise when he'd wanted to give more.

"A wager? I'm always willing to make those," Erik said, taking the ball from him. "What are we wagering on?"

"An aria, one to be respectfully submitted to the head of music at Fox Theater in London," Colin said with a crooked smile.

Erik laughed. They had always wagered for music during the festival, but it was usually something he had to memorize, or if Erik won then he was allowed to choose something he liked for himself and rearrange it.

"Then if I win, I will submit not just an aria, but an opera. Anonymously, with my name revealed if they accept it."

Colin's brow raised and he nodded his head approvingly. "Only if that name is Erik Talbot," he said, his tone cautious but hopeful.

Erik's eyes softened and he swallowed hard as his throat tightened. "None other," Erik agreed, then turned and knocked every last milk bottle down.

Across the street, a small man watched father and son, his eyes moving between them both then settling just beyond them to the petite blond woman holding two rambunctious children. She was smiling and laughing, and watching Erik. The man had a feeling he knew her name, just as he knew what would happen if Erik discovered he was in Artenay.

- -

There was still some awkwardness between them, but Lily had cajoled Anthony into taking her through the fair. On a crowded street, nothing could happen between them and there should be no silent moments to cause lingering thoughts. But on Lily's part she could not ignore them entirely. Lily found it distracting to watch Anthony, his broad shoulders moving beneath a white linen shirt, an engaging smile on his face as he teased young village girls who worked on daisy chains for a few coins. He bought Lily one but allowed her to place it on her own head, laughing with her when she broke it swatting at an errant wasp.

"Are you going to win me a prize now?" Lily teased him as they stopped at a lawn game booth, and he began to roll his sleeves up.

"I might," Anthony drawled. "If I win. But if I do all the work, shouldn't I get the prize?"

The man running the booth laughed rather loudly in Lily's face. "And that's the truth! If I were him, I'd claim something along the lines of a kiss!"

Lily turned her shocked eyes to Anthony, but he was smiling. Her heart raced when he winked at her.

"Very tempting, indeed," Anthony said, then turned his attention to the game.

"You have three tries," the man informed him, "to get your ball into the white circle. If you pass through it, you lose. If you don't get anywhere near the circle, you loose. And if _she_ tries and beats you, I get to laugh!"

Lily bit her lip as Anthony took the ball in his hand, and said a little prayer. He let the ball sail, and it landed perfectly within the circle, as did the next two.

"And what do I win if I put all three within the circle?" Anthony murmured, turning to look at Lily.

Her hands were clasped together, and he could tell her thoughts by the blush on her cheeks and the look in her eyes. She said nothing as he removed one of the daisy's from its broken chain and tucked it in her hair.

"Perhaps you will get your prize later," Lily whispered, her mouth going dry as his gaze dropped to her lips.

The man at the booth faded away to help another vendee, but Lily and Anthony stared at one another for several moments until Susanna's son darted between them, hiding from one of his friends. Embarrassment forced them to look away, before quickly looking around the crowd to see if anyone had noticed that they'd been making cow eyes at one another.

"Can I take you by a lemonade stand?" Anthony asked her.

"Yes," Lily replied, gratefully falling into step beside him.

Anthony wondered if Lily knew how much he wanted to kiss her again. Erik had said nothing more to him since the night in the parlor, and except for several lingering glances and a few unnecessary touches, neither Lily nor Anthony had mentioned their kiss. It remained between them, an unspoken and forbidden topic.

One that Lily could no longer resist.

"What did Erik say to you after I left the other night?"

Anthony stopped walking and turned to look at her. "You knew he was there?"

Lily gave a musical laugh. "Erik is always there. My brother is a world class spy. People used to quiver in fear, thinking he was near, listening. What did he say to you?" she asked again, then her eyes widened. "What did you say to him?"

He thought it was an odd thing to say, but he didn't want to discuss Erik. Now that she had brought it up, Anthony wanted to talk about the kiss, especially if it might lead to another one.

"I told him that if I had a mind to kiss you, I would do it and there was little he could do to stop me."

Lily made a strangled sound, and he turned to find her eyes even wider. "You did not! He would kill you for that!"

"No," Anthony admitted, his tone now teasing. "But I would have if he'd objected to my interest in you."

"Your...your interest?" Lily faltered, staring at him in disbelief. "What interest?"

Anthony's eyes flickered over her face and he felt a bit of panic. He'd been half teasing, but it was no joke to Lily. He remembered too late the cruel way she'd been jilted, left to face a crowd of laughing people as Duncan announced his engagement to someone else on the very night she'd expected him to announce it to her. Though why she had agreed to go through with the marriage after the miscarriage was beyond Anthony.

"Answer me," Lily demanded. "What interest?"

"I..."

Lily's face colored suddenly as she realized from Anthony's discomfort that he had not been serious. She stalked the rest of the way to the lemonade stand, grabbing a cup from the table with near violence to the girl who hesitated too long in handing it to her. Lily was mortified. Anthony had looked cornered, as he should have felt. She had pounced on him as if he were prey, and all because he'd given her a kiss. Of course it was nothing to him if he wanted another kiss. He was a man, and it should be nothing to her, because she wanted it as well.

So why did it sting so much? Why was she feeling the miserable urge to cry or to break something? It was _only_ Anthony, after all, Lily thought sarcastically.

"Lily?" Anthony approached her, setting a hand on her stiff shoulder.

"Go away," she said quietly. "You don't need to feel obligated to me. We are nothing."

He placed an arm around her back and steered her reluctant form to an alley between the inn and stables, then around a corner. "We've known each other a long time. We should at least be friends, don't you think?"

"I think it's too late for that..."

"No, Lily. I didn't want to hurt you. And I didn't mean to...to imply anything. My intentions to you should be honorable. I know how much it would damage you for another man to hurt you. I don't want to be someone who sets you back," Anthony cut in.

"Should be honorable?" Lily repeated, eyeing him warily. "What do you mean by that?"

Anthony stepped forward without realizing it, staring at her lips. "I want to kiss you again, Lily. I've thought of little else since the last time that I kissed you."

Lily's hand moved up to his cheek, slowly rubbing the slight beard that had robbed him of his freshly shaven look. She'd thought of little else, or to be precise, nothing else. The kiss was on her mind from the time she went to sleep until she awakened, then all day while in his presence or out of it. She remembered Anthony's taste and his scent, and the feeling of his tongue inside her mouth. In the last year she had not given much thought to actually finding happiness with a man. Her mind had been driven to bitterness and the belief that no one would ever find her beautiful or desirable.

Anthony obviously did both, but Lily was frightened to take more or ask for it. What if kisses were the only thing that he wanted? And what if it turned out that they really did not suit? What then? And hadn't she made a vow to herself after her humiliation at the engagement party that love did not exist, and that she would never heed its call again?

Marriage was one thing. Even a good marriage based on friendship and affection would be acceptable, and if passion was shared, then it was all the better. But Lily did not want to love again. Her love for Duncan had been so flimsy, without substance, without return. She did not want to give her heart to such a falsity again.

Anthony's head lowered a fraction, but Lily pulled back with a startled jerk. She wanted to kiss him, Lord how she did, but at what cost? Anthony was not a man well known for his eagerness to be tied to one woman – and Lily was not certain she wanted that either. And she certainly was not going to give her body to another man who was not her husband.

"I need to go," Lily said abruptly, pulling away.

"Lily, wait. Please, wait," Anthony whispered.

"It's okay, Anthony. I understand...I...I think you are handsome, and I know that I'm passably decent. We kissed, and it's natural for us to want to do so again. But we shouldn't, and you know it."

"Yes," he replied. "I do know it. But it doesn't stop me from wanting you."

"You can't have me," Lily replied, though her resolve had weakened. Nothing would stop her from wanting him either, not wishes of being respectable again, nor hope to be invulnerable. Lily wanted to be strong, but Anthony's eyes were filled with intent. She stayed in his arms, torn between hoping for a kiss and freedom.

"I want to kiss you, Lily," Anthony said, his face hovering above hers. A burning, wicked feeling was overtaking him. He'd never understood the allure of the forbidden, never once thought of becoming an immoral man like his father. Oh, how Lily was a temptation he could not deny himself. Anthony wanted her. More than just a kiss, more than just a prize for a lawn game. He wanted her skin against his, just as he'd thought of for what seemed like an eternity. Above all, though, he didn't want to hurt her. "But I won't if you tell me not to."


	20. Within the Woods

Mirela didn't actually participate in the fortune telling, though she stayed at Madame Dumont's side, whispering suggestions to the rather bewildered but interested woman. Since most of the curious seekers entering the tent were children, Mirela spent most of her time giving them conspiratorial smiles as they crowded around Madame's 'crystal ball', which in reality resembled some sort of household decoration gone awry.

Rand was helping Eli with an eating contest, which sounded positively disgusting to Mirela, and Rachel was making daisy chains, whatever those were. Mirela was beginning to find small town life very comforting, indeed. There was a structure to it just as there had been within the tribe.

The matrons such as Madame Dumont and Madame Boef were the most respected women in town, and close friends to each other as well. Anyone wishing to be accepted in Artenay was likely to do so by gaining their favor, which was most likely why Rand had agreed to participate in activities this year.

Then there were the older men such as Henri Allard and the husbands of the matrons, who were respected by every person in town, much as Rene Vallee had been. Everyone in the social circle from child to matriarch looked up to them, and in return they were looked out for. The town was certainly interesting, and this festival was something Mirela knew she would enjoy year after year.

Feeling the heat inside the tent begin to get to her, Mirela excused herself and went out into the fresh air. She was just in time to see the young Italian man named Anthony pull Erik's sister behind the inn. Lily Talbot was not protesting a bit, and as Mirela glanced around again, she saw that Lily's disappearance had not gone unnoticed either.  
Helene Talbot was watching with a smile on her face, while Erik's stepmother watched with a frown. Mirela made her way towards them, and joined the group which was in an already heated discussion.

"I'm going back there, Helene!" Emma said immovably. "I saw the look in Anthony's eyes. He's probably already kissing her!"

"Good! Then leave them be," Helene retorted. "He's not going to impregnate her behind the inn."

Susanna met Mirela's eyes, trying to hide laughter by drinking her lemonade.

"Helene! Lower your voice!" Emma gasped.

"Good grief, Emma! Don't you remember what it was like to be young and in love? I do, and I'm nearing my centennial!"'

"You are not that old, and my marriage was arranged! I was a _virgin_ on _my_ wedding night!"

Helene snorted loudly, then gave a characteristic, "Hmph!" She fixed Emma with a glittering smile. "Well _toodles_ to you! I _wasn't!_ Not even close! I had three different lovers before I took Colin's father. And even that was well before my wedding night!"

Three shocked women and one chortling little girl stared at Helene, who flipped open her old fan and began to wave it nonchalantly in the hot air.

"Don't look at me like that," Helene continued dryly. "Viola had _five_."

Emma clamped her mouth shut and glanced helplessly toward the alley. She felt a hand on hers and met Susanna's mirthful eyes.

"Don't worry about them, Emma," Susanna consoled her. "Erik has been spying on them all week. He said Anthony has been a perfect gentleman, and Lily is being very responsible about this."

"But..."

"Leave them be," Helene repeated. "Lily needs someone like Anthony."

Emma hesitated, torn between protecting her daughter and setting her free once more. She liked Anthony, and trusted him. But she didn't want more drama to enfold itself around Lily, as it was wont to do.

"Colin will be very upset if he finds out about them," Emma whispered, but her mind had already begun to process the thought of Lily happy and in love. And Emma, the optimist, never gave a thought to Lily having her heart broken again.

"You won't tell him," Helene said with supreme confidence.

Emma bit her lip, wondering if she could convince Lily to start wearing pretty dresses again, and if she could get away with a white wedding dress.

"I won't tell him, _yet_," Emma said solemnly, though she kept a watchful eye on that alleyway.

- -

Anthony stared deeply into Lily's eyes, waiting for some indication of her feelings. He could already imagine her father or brother rounding the corner of the inn and finding her in his arms – and was disturbed to find that it didn't bother him in the slightest. There were more pressing matters than death. He had offered to kiss her, and she had not responded.

"Do you want me to kiss you, Lily?" Anthony asked again, desperately needing to know her answer. What was it about this girl that had caused his heart to suddenly open? To desire her so much, when before she had been nothing more than the beautiful but annoying sister to his best friend? She should have remained untouchable. Forbidden fruit, as they called it. Perhaps forbidden fruit was something Anthony wanted, and he'd never been tempted enough before now to taste it.

"We shouldn't," Lily whispered, though she leaned in to meet his lips.

Anthony kissed her sweetly, slowly filling his senses with the girl whose dark hair and soft skin had him entranced. He kissed her again but managed to stop himself from giving in to his masculine urge to push her against the wall of the inn and kiss her harder. Lily was no saint, _ah_, but she was still so innocent. Nothing would convince him otherwise.

"Anthony," Lily gasped, then slid her hands around his neck. "You're a very good kisser."

"I've been told," Anthony murmured, tipping her chin back to brush light kisses on her neck. "But I've never kissed anyone like you before."

Lily pulled back, eyeing him dazedly. "What do you mean, 'like me'?

"Young and innocent," he clarified, unsatisfied with the abrupt end to their kiss. "You're still a girl, really."

"As opposed to what?" Lily snorted. "And innocent? I haven't been innocent in a long time."

Anthony smiled and kissed her once more. "I don't think you're that experienced, Lily. And I didn't say naïve. I don't know what to make of you sometimes, but I do believe that your heart is good."

Lily gazed at him, her mind flitting across every bad thing that she'd ever done. Without hesitating another moment she told him about the morphine.

Anthony was stunned into silence, his face disbelieving until Lily wrenched her sleeve up and showed him the faint markings at her inner elbow.

"See?" she demanded. "Not innocent at all."

"Lily – does your family know about this?" Anthony asked, weakened at the sight of the pain she'd caused herself.

"Yes." Lily bristled under his scrutiny, instantly regretting telling him so much. "Do not give me that look. I haven't touched that substance in over two months and I have no intentions ever to do so again. I hated the way it made me feel."

"What were you thinking? People have _died_ from that drug, Lily!" Anthony exclaimed, his arms waving in the air.

"I'm not taking it anymore," Lily repeated. Feeling hurt and embarrassed, she turned away.

Anthony winced as she marched back to the fair and he waited a few moments before he joined her. Morphine? Lily on that dreadful concoction of plant and poison? He had read article after article in society papers about the growing concern that had risen because of the war in America. They called it "army disease" because the lack of proper medicine and sanitation on the battlefield had led to the liberal prescription of morphine to injured soldiers.

"I didn't mean to sound condemning," Anthony said quietly from behind her. "I'm not judging you. I was shocked."

Lily moved further into the crowd, ignoring him. A dark mood had settled on her, and she was determined not to give in to tears of humiliation. Anthony would never understand the pain she'd gone through. He would nod and smile, and give her a reassuring smile, but he wouldn't comprehend why she had numbed herself with morphine.

"Lily, listen to me. Please," Anthony tried again, this time taking her by the wrist and pulling her around. "Will you stop and talk to me for a damned minute?"

"Is there a problem here?" he heard a man ask.

Lily and Anthony jerked away from one another guiltily as both her father and Erik studied them. In her distress, Lily hadn't realized she'd come all the way back to the pyramid booth where she'd last seen the men before Anthony had taken her into the alley.

"No. Anthony was just arguing with me about something," Lily said quickly, shooting her brother a silencing look in case he thought of opening his mouth. "Nothing important, Papa."

"It _sounded _important," Colin replied immovably. "Anthony?"

"Just a disagreement, Sir. Your daughter and I have them frequently."

"Hmph," Colin replied, sounding remarkably like his mother. "Well, see that you have enough sense not to think you might win that argument. My daughter is stubborn."

"As a mule," Erik added beneath his breath, earning a contemptuous glare from his sister.

Colin stared at his daughter a moment, then at Anthony, and tried to imagine anything romantic occurring between them. It seemed absurd, but his mother had certainly made her intentions regarding this pair's future clear. Still, Colin didn't think it likely that the always quarrelsome pair might set aside their differences long enough to be serious.

Any future conversation was interrupted by a rather loud commotion coming toward them. Susanna, with Daniel firmly grasped by the arm, was marching straight to Erik. Her face was strained, and Daniel was crying, and it was soon apparent that neither one of them was particularly happy.

"Susanna? Is something wrong?" Erik asked immediately.

"Yes! Madame Boef caught Daniel walking into the woods with a man!" she said, lifting the boy slightly with a little shake. "A stranger!"

"Mama, you're hurting my arm!" Daniel cried piteously, trying to pull away from her.

"A man?" Erik looked down at Daniel. "A man was leading him into the woods?" he asked slowly.

"Yes...a..._man_!" Susanna repeated, emphasizing each word with another little shake to her son. "Don't you ever do something like that again, Daniel! Never, never, never!"

"Susanna, stop," Erik said, and gently extricated the boy from her grasp. "There's no need to frighten him; he didn't know he was doing anything wrong."

"I've told him, my father has told him, that it isn't safe to speak with strangers! He shouldn't have been out there alo-" Susanna stopped abruptly as her shoulders started to shake, and she turned away from the frightened eyes of her son and the concerned ones of Erik and his family.

"Lily, let's take Susanna over to Emma," Colin offered, placing his arm around her trembling body. "Erik..."

"I'll find out what I can," Erik said grimly. He waited until they had all left, taking Anthony with them, then crouched down to the tear streaked boy. "Daniel, where was the man taking you?"

"He said he w-wished to show me something," the boy whispered, staring at the ground. "Did I do something wrong?"

A well of rage bubbled up inside Erik's stomach. Something, indeed. He was probably the only person in this naïve town who could identify what that something was. Impatiently he began to scan the area, wanting to find out as much as possible to begin his search for this bastard who had dared try to steal his son's innocence. "Has your mother told you not to speak with strangers?"

Daniel nodded slowly.

"Then you did something wrong, if this man was a stranger." Erik paused for a moment. "Daniel, do you remember what he looked like?"

The boy nodded again, and said the one thing that could send a river of ice through Erik's blood.

"He looked like Mirela."

Gypsies. A Gypsy had tried to take Daniel into the woods? It made no sense. They didn't normally bother non-Romas, unless of course they stumbled onto a rare find such as a burn victim who resembled a devil. But still, what if Rulv had somehow found him? What if he had found Mirela?

Erik took Daniel by the shoulders firmly and looked steadily into his young eyes. Clearly the boy had no concept of danger, and Erik had no idea how to explain cruelty to one so innocent as Daniel. "Daniel, do you know why I wear this mask?"

"You had an accident," Daniel said dutifully. "You wear it because it is stethi...uh...aschi..."

"Aesthetically pleasing."

Daniel nodded.

"Yes, it is. But...but..."

Erik gazed down the village street, helplessly lost in his new role as Daniel's protector from all things depraved. He didn't want to burden this boy with something so twisted, and at the same time needed to make him understand.

"Is something hurting you, Erik?" Daniel asked shyly. "You look funny."

Erik blew out a breath, and turned back to the boy. "Can you keep a promise, Daniel?"

"Of course," he piped up proudly.

"Good. That's good," Erik said, his tone as calm and gentle as he could allow. "Don't speak to strangers ever again. Don't approach someone you don't know without the permission of your family, and never wander off with someone who you don't know. Especially if they look...different.

Erik winced, knowing he was very much a hypocrite in that regard. He was far, far stranger looking than even an unkempt Gypsy. "Promise me, Daniel."

Daniels eyes grew big with worry. "Why?"

"Because, someone might try to harm you, and it would break my heart. It would break your mother's heart. So you must promise me."

"I promise," Daniel replied solemnly.

"Good."

Feeling an overwhelming urge to do so, he kissed Daniel's forehead and embraced him hard. Soon, very soon, they would be father and son. Daniel had already asked for permission to call him, 'Papa', and Erik had nearly wept in relief at the request.

"Now, what else can you tell me about the man?" Erik prompted. "Was he wearing strange clothes or jewelry? Did he talk differently than you and I?"

Daniel's face pinched in thought. "His clothes were like Monsieur Talbot's or Monsieur Favero's, but he did talk funny."

"What did he say?" Erik asked, confused at once. Why would a Gypsy dress in gentlemen's clothes?

"He wanted to talk about you," Daniel answered, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "He wanted to know if you were really going to marry my mother."

Erik groaned as the new information sank in. There was only one man who would be asking such questions. One man who would look strange, talk funny, and wear gentlemen's clothes. He sent Daniel back to Susanna, and glared unhappily into the woods.

It appeared there were no Gypsies waiting there. No, not Gypsies. Someone much worse.

The Persian!

- -

Thank you all for being patient with me. I've had this ready for awhile but work has been so crazy that I forgot. I actually had to take off work today early to buy undergarments...my bra busted at work...whoops...

In case you're wondering I deleted some of my older stories. If you were reading them I'm sorry, but I can't get them back. I do have a poem up, which I will delete if I don't get more than one review for it, but it's up to you. I try not to beg for reviews, but one is just embarrassing...thank you MetalMyers for posting it.


	21. The First out of Pandora

Locating the old Daroga would not be difficult at all for Erik. The Persian might have made it more so if he had taken the time to cover his tracks, or at least had given a semblance of caring if he were found. If it had truly been a Gypsy that Erik tracked, then there might have been no trace, at least none a common villager would ever find. Erik was not common; his face had assured him of an entirely uncommon life.

After assuring Susanna and everyone else that Daniel had not been nearly abducted by a miscreant, Erik waited until it was almost dark before he ventured into the woods. His family was worried about him, but he had told them that it was not Gypsies who were to be feared in this case. It was only the Persian, who most likely was making sure Erik was not behaving as a madman once more. Appeased though they were that it was not a depraved lunatic seeking to destroy innocence, his family had their doubts about a man who had admittedly betrayed Erik by leading Raoul de Chagny into his home.

Erik himself was not sure what he would find in the woods outside Artenay. But whatever he might have imagined, he certainly did not expect that his old friend would be sitting on a rock, staring into a fire. Erik watched him from behind for several minutes, listening carefully for any sign of company.

When it appeared there was none, Erik presented himself at the Daroga's back and intentionally snapped a twig with his hands.

The Persian's head shot up in awareness, but he did not turn around.

"Daroga, you old booby, have you no better sense than to find me now?"

The Persian's shoulders slumped, and he cast a beleaguered look at Erik when he moved to an opposite rock. "You found me," he stated flatly.

"Obviously. The question is, why did you come looking for me?" Erik asked calmly.

The Daroga studied his masked friend intently for a moment. In years past, Erik would have already been at his throat. While he certainly didn't look happy to see him, Erik was nowhere near the violent man that he had been in Persia, nor was he the broken one who had left Paris.

"There were rumors of a murder in your hometown," Farid said lightly. "I naturally assumed that you had killed someone again. I also heard of your impending marriage, and of course I was curious about that too."

Erik grimaced. "Braining men with wine bottles was never my style. But yes," he added, "I am getting married."

The Daroga adopted a horrified expression. "Allah! There is something strange upon your face! Erik, what is that thing?"

Instantly alarmed, Erik touched his mask. It was intact, and there appeared to be nothing out of the ordinary. That was when the Daroga broke out into echoing laughter.

"You're lips were shaped so oddly, and I could see your teeth! I do believe it was a smile!"

Those green eyes lit with a fierce pride that the Daroga had never seen, and he watched as Erik grinned as a foolish boy might. "I have found peace and happiness here. Above all, I have found the love of a good woman," Erik confessed to his old friend.

"That is good. Then you have accepted the man that I met in Paris as your father?"

"How could I not?" Erik offered, his tone quieting. "He has accepted me. I have gained back everything that I lost when I left here."

Neither one stated the obvious, which was that Erik's face would never again be what it was, but the implication was that perhaps appearances didn't need to be perfect for happiness. A comfortable silence surrounded them, and Erik was reminded of the long trip from Russia to Persia, where he and the Daroga had camped many nights beneath the stars. Erik had made his first true friend as an adult with the Persian Daroga, though Erik admitted that he had abused his relationship with the man.

Constant threats and teeming insults were not the way to treat a friend who had helped him escape from Persia. Their odd relationship had taken a turn for the worse with the arrival of Christine and the Daroga's bitter disapproval of Erik's training her. Things between them might never have been the same if Erik had not changed so drastically in the last few months.

"Would you like to meet my family?" Erik asked, surprising the other man.

The only times Erik had volunteered to share his life, apart from reliving the horrors of the tragedy that had robbed him of his mother, were under the dark pull of morphine. Seldom did Erik allow his old friend inside, and after years of a lonely exile from his homeland, the Daroga was grateful for the chance to be extended the courtesy.

"I would be honored."

- -

Colin and Susanna descended on Erik and his friend the moment they stepped through the front door. Erik had warned him that they had guests who did not know about his former occupation as resident Opera Ghost, but it was clear that his father had found something useful for Grandmother Talbot and Anthony to be doing. Lily was being 'taught' how to play billiards by Anthony, and Grandmother Talbot was napping under the watchful eye of Emma.

"You!" Susanna snapped at the unsuspecting Persian. "You ought to know better than to draw a boy away from his family! I thought you were some sort of perverted man!"

The Daroga sent Erik a pleading look, but Erik only shrugged.

"My apologies, Madame. I would never harm a child," the Daroga answered, deeply, but understandably offended.

"If Erik had not told me such nice things about you, rest assured I would not forgive you," she huffed.

"Once more, I apologize," he responded, wondering what on earth Erik had said about him.

Colin cleared his throat, eager to dispel the tense atmosphere. "It is pleasant to see you again, Monsieur, but from our last conversation I hadn't thought you were interested in seeing my son again."

"Which brings up an excellent question," Susanna said, unwilling to let his transgression go so easily. "Why are you here in Artenay? And what _were_ you doing with Daniel?"

"Making certain I have not resorted to abducting potential brides and causing general mayhem?" Erik quipped uncharacteristically.

Susanna crossed her arms. "That isn't funny, Erik."

The Daroga stuck his tongue in his cheek and raised his brows thoughtfully. "No. It was a good one."

"Thank you," Erik replied with a grin. "_I_ thought so."

Unappeased by their camaraderie, Susanna's hands shifted to her hips. "What were you doing, leading my son into the woods?"

"Susanna, he was asking Daniel about me, in the only way he knew how. Daroga would never hurt Daniel," Erik said, quietly and firmly silencing her further arguments. "Now, I have invited him as a guest here. If he is not welcome, I will take him to my own home."

Colin's eyes widened at the command in his son's tone. Apparently Erik had forgiven this man. The Persian's intentions had been only to save the life of the young opera singer and her lover. But Colin trusted his son, and he remembered nothing but respect from this strangely calm Persian man when he had taken him below the opera house and showed him Erik's domain.

"Don't be absurd, of course he's welcome here," Colin said brusquely.

Grudgingly Susanna offered the Daroga a deeply doubtful smile. "Yes. I know you saved Erik's life, and he has said good things about you." Just when the Persian seemed to relax, she had pointed an index finger at his nose. "_But_, if I hear of you bothering Erik again over anything, then you will have _me_ to deal with. And it won't be pleasant for either of us!"

The sensible Persian, who even after years of living in Paris had not grown accustomed to being spoken to by a sharp tongued woman, could only nod. Allah bless Erik for putting up with such a creature.

And to think, he'd come here with every intention of protecting her life if it were necessary!

- -

"Like this?" Lily murmured.

"Yes." Distracted by the din of raised voices coming from outside, Anthony barely looked at her. "Are you sure everything is fine? Susanna sounds quite upset."

"She's perfectly fine," Lily replied. She readjusted her cue stick, struck the ball, then watched it fly over the rail and land at Anthony's feet.

"Hey!" he protested, turning back to her with a indiscreetly placed hand at his groin. "Be careful with that thing, will you?"

"What's wrong, Fairchild?" Lily taunted. "You ought to know better than to stand near a table when someone is about to break."

Anthony's eyes narrowed. "You know, I'm beginning to think maybe you are more knowledgeable about this game than you were letting on. And come to think of it, your father was abnormally insistent that I teach you."

"Erik's friend is strange. He's from a place called Mazanderan. Perhaps he didn't want to offend your delicate British nobility."

"Right," Anthony returned sarcastically. "You know, I _do_ have tea with the Queen on Thursdays. She's mad for me."

Lily tsked at him. "Such hostility from a gentleman. I never expected it from you."

Anthony picked up the cue ball and placed it back on the table, quite sure there was something odd going on. The Talbot's had all but demanded that he teach Lily to play pool, when it was obvious she knew how. And Grandmother Talbot been shepherded into the drawing room, unprotesting only because she knew Lily and Anthony would be alone.

"What is it you aren't telling me?"

"I don't know what you mean," Lily replied loftily, chalking up her pool cue once more. "I've given you all my secrets. Every last one."

"I'm talking about Erik," Anthony said impatiently.

"Erik has more secrets than a priest hole. You'll have to be more specific," she said, snorting at her own joke.

"Where has your brother been all these years?" Anthony asked, walking around to her side of the table. Lily didn't answer immediately, so he took the stick away from her and took her by the hands. "Why didn't he just come home?"

"The...the mask...," Lily whispered. "No matter where he traveled, people would not accept him, but he has been practically everywhere."

"Your brother has an interesting register of friends. Gypsy, Persian, Russian. What else is there?"

She laughed nervously. "It isn't my place to tell you about Erik. He doesn't like people knowing his business"

Anthony beckoned Lily closer, Erik and his mysteries fading from his mind at her nearness. "Then if we can't discuss your brother, I suppose there's really only one thing to do with ourselves, since it is apparent I won't be allowed out of this room."

"Is that so?" Lily asked with a challenging jut to her chin. "Perhaps I don't want to kiss you again."

"Perhaps not, but then again perhaps you do. I want you to kiss me nearly as much as I want to kiss you."

Nearly? Lily swallowed, meeting his eyes. Oh, yes. She'd be lying through her teeth if she said she didn't want it. But she hadn't really expected his interest in her to remain after what she had told him about the morphine. Hindsight had caused her to think that she would have done better keeping it to herself, but then again, she'd never been one to learn easily from her mistakes.

"Anthony, I haven't been a good person. You shouldn't want to kiss me," Lily said, her tone breaking his heart.

"You're strong." Anthony answered her worries with a light kiss. "You're beautiful. There is nothing you have done that would make me not want to kiss you. And your Grandmother is to thank for that."

"My Grandmother?" Lily repeated, confused. "What does my Grandmother have to do with anything?"

Anthony gave her a look of disbelief. "You can't tell me you haven't noticed her matchmaking." Lily stared at Anthony so long he pondered kissing her rather than explaining his theory.

"What are you talking about?" she finally demanded. "My Grandmother is a sweet old lady! She would never think to – _why_ are you laughing?"

"Sweet?" Anthony snorted. "She's not sweet, she's a tyrant!"

Lily attempted to move out of his arms, only to have them tighten around her until his laughter subsided.

"Is she wrong about us?" Anthony questioned, his eyes intently focused on Lily as he raised a potentially dangerous question.

"U-us?" she stammered.

"Your Grandmother expressed her interest in my matrimonial state, or the lack thereof, on the train ride here," Anthony said carefully, not wishing to commit himself, especially when he did not know Lily's feelings. One thing was certain, if he expressed his feelings to her, they would be permanent. There was no way he would toy with Lily Talbot's heart.

Lily's knees weakened, and her heart raced. Stolen kisses were one thing. This was beyond her comprehension. It terrified her to think of romance and love, especially with someone who knew her so well. It would kill her if Anthony was playing her false, and just as well, she knew it would hurt him if things did not work out between them. Anthony respected and admired her family, and always had. This sudden and rather unexpected question had Lily shaking nervously.

Then a rational, terrifying thought flitted through her mind. One that caused trembling anew.

"I don't believe in love," Lily blurted out, her voice echoing loudly in the room. "It doesn't exist. Not for me."

A vague smile that had been on Anthony's lips slid away. Love? He searched Lily's eyes and saw that panic had replaced the slow bud of desire he'd been trying to build. Love? Anthony thought again. Never having been in love, he was entirely unsure of the emotion. It didn't frighten him, but at the same time he knew he would never wish to suffer the heartbreak that Lily had.

She thought love would make her weak. How could he convince her otherwise, if that was truly his intent?

"You're strong, Lily," Anthony said quietly. He touched her cheek reverently, increasing her vulnerable stare. "My attention to you has been honest, Lily. I haven't fought what your Grandmother Talbot has tossed in my general direction, but if my interest is not welcome then you must let me know."

Lily closed her eyes, unable to speak. What was he saying? That he wished to continue this...interest? Leading to what, exactly? A clenching feeling sprang in her stomach from nervous excitement and fear. Why couldn't he have been content to kiss her?

As if reading Lily's thoughts, Anthony began kissing her immediately. His lips met hers, softly demanding a response that her voice and heart would not allow. With her eyes still shut, Anthony closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around her slender frame. Lily, so darkly suited to tragedy. She would be perfect for opera, so brilliantly believable when she sang her pain and love for all the world to hear. Anthony didn't think she believed that bit about love.

Love was real. It was in music, in art, and right now, it was inside this woman.

He deepened the kiss, threading his hands through her hair and feeling triumph when her arms slid around his back. Lily clung to him, a desperate survivor who still needed a lifeline. Anthony tossed it to her, and patiently waited for her wild response.

"A–HA!"

The embracing pair sprang apart and met the satisfied gaze of none other than Helene Talbot.


	22. Game, Set, Match

"Grandmother!" Lily gasped, painfully aware of what their interruption looked like.

"I knew you were up to something," Helene said to Anthony with a cantankerous snort. "I saw you leading her down the alley earlier. How many assignations do you intend to make in one day?"

"A-assignations!" Lily sputtered, her face red and her heart racing wildly, both from the kisses and the knowledge that now she'd been caught.

"What have you been doing with my granddaughter, Fairchild?" Helene asked, pointing her cane at him.

Anthony's jaw tightened, but he said nothing. So this was how Helene was going to play it? She had set them up, pure and simple. He could see it in her eyes, and he glanced suspiciously at Lily. Had she been in on this? Anthony didn't think so. Instinctively he felt that the new attraction between them had been as unexpected for Lily as it was for him. And right now she was so stunned that she was speechless.

"Nothing to say?" Helene jeered softly. "You aren't going to defend yourself?"

"I am well aware of what I was doing," Anthony answered stiffly.

"Aware of whom you were kissing, don't you mean?" Helene added, narrowing her eyes until he nodded. "I must say, this is a surprise!"

"Somehow I doubt that," Anthony said beneath his breath.

He felt Lily's eyes on him and suspected she was somewhere between laughter and tears. She wanted so badly now to keep her fathers respect and affection, and Anthony had been uncommonly careless with her. He had the potential to ruin her completely, and the knowledge was like a vise around his heart, and now his testicles.

There was really only one thing Helene wanted out of this, that was obvious. If Anthony was to keep his friendship with the Talbot family and prevent Lily from being hurt, he had to placate Helene until he could figure a way from between the hammer and the anvil. Especially while convincing Lily that love was real – _if_ he wished to appoint himself the man to do that.

Helene knew every thought in Anthony's mind. She was, after all, quite experienced at maneuvering reluctant men and nervous women down the aisle. To date she had at least twenty marriages to her credit. Certainly more than Viola Portington, who had made matches, but not necessarily good ones.

Helene decided Anthony needed a little fire under his pants as he shifted his feet. He was taking far too much of her time.

"So how long have you been dallying with my granddaughter?" she asked sharply.

Anthony's lips tightened further until his teeth were bared. "Don't say that. It isn't true."

"Isn't it?" she drawled, glancing pointedly at Lily's crooked dress.

"I will speak to Mr. Talbot in the morning," Anthony said, his tone resigned.

Lily's head jerked around at the announcement as she was finally brought out of her stupor. "What? No!"

"It must be done!" Helene clucked. "Before your reputation is ruined!"

"What reputation!" Lily demanded. "I am already ruined! And don't you dare tell Papa. It doesn't matter if Anthony kissed me!"

"If you say 'it's only M. Favero' one more time...," Helene began.

"Mrs. Talbot, I would like to speak to Lily alone," Anthony interrupted.

"Hmph!" Helene gave him a suspect glance. "I think not!"

Anthony glared at her and turned to Lily, who was still protesting quietly.

"No. I can't do this," she whispered, gripping his arm. "I can't let _you_ do this."

"Shh. Listen," Anthony said, his voice soft and low so that only she could hear it. "Your grandmother isn't going to let this go."

"But-"

"Look at her," he urged, and they both received a malevolent glance as they watched Helene place her hands on her hips. "She couldn't be happier than she is right now. She's been trying to tie us together for awhile now, and it looks like we've played right into her hands."

Lily's eyes widened. "We did?"

Anthony nodded his head. "Now listen, Lily. Don't take this the wrong way. If you wish to marry then I will marry you. But I can't imagine that you have...feelings for me...," he trailed off uncertainly, and felt an odd sense of disappointment when her eyes flashed.

"As if I would consider it!"

"That's what I thought. I will speak to your father tomorrow -"

"No!"

"Shh," Anthony reminded her, feeling Helene's eyes burning holes into his back. "I have to. You don't want your family to know we've-"

"No," Lily agreed softly, her tone defeated as well. "But we can't marry!"

"And we won't," he promised her, meanwhile wondering if it were true. "I will speak to your father tomorrow, and you may decide when you want to toss me. I'll do anything you ask. But-"

"_What_? _Toss _you" Lily repeated in harsh whisper.

Toss him? Anthony would agree to pretend to be her betrothed just to keep her scheming grandmother silent, and then she was to toss him? What if she didn't_ want_ to toss him? A thought which contradicted everything Lily had just said to him. Anthony looked so serious and handsome, the intensity of his eyes made Lily want to kiss him despite their predicament.

Lily wasn't certain about love – but the comfort of a relationship was not lost on her. Marriage and love were separate in her mind. They were not mutually exclusive, but certainly not necessary for happiness with a mate. Anthony made her feel safe, and Lily liked his kisses. She loved his kisses. They set her on fire.

Lily felt a flash of annoyance at her grandmother for forcing her to face responsibility for her actions, but she could not disappoint her father again, and she was almost certain her grandmother would tell him what she'd seen. It was then that Lily realized how it would look to her family, even if it was only a kiss.

Certainly if her grandmother had not come along when she did, it could have been headed for something more, though Lily hoped that within herself she would have stopped Anthony before he'd carried her completely away.

"If he speaks to Papa -" Lily said to her grandmother.

"Then I will not say a word," Helene said, pride etched into her rusty voice.

"Good girl," Anthony murmured, then brushed a lingering kiss on her cheek.

Anthony's eyes met Lily's, and all he could think was how beautiful she was. Her eyes danced with sudden laughter; her lips perfectly set for mischief.

A game had been set up for them both, unless he was mistaken. A game where there would be no losers if the two of them could play it correctly.

Yet as he looked into Lily's eyes, Anthony realized that this felt nothing like any game he'd ever played. Because in all his twenty seven years, this was the first time he had played with his heart.

- -

Once the suspicion had died down and Erik had assured Daroga the privacy of a room for the night, he set about the task of taking Susanna home. Not soon enough would this no longer be a problem. Erik hated taking her home every night, though admittedly he enjoyed the nights she allowed him to lead her away from the road and make love to her beneath the stars. In less than six weeks she would turn from his fiancée to his bride, adopting the comfortable title of _wife. _

"Are you very sure your friend can be trusted?" Susanna asked, gripping Erik's waist tightly.

Once away from the proper eyes of family, Erik always allowed her to ride behind him on horseback and tied the reins of her own gentle gelding to his pommel. The night smelled of honeysuckle and a slight promise of rain, and Susanna wound her hands beneath his clothing until she could touch his warm skin.

"I told you, Susanna, he is an honorable man."

"But he led that de Chagny boy to you," Susanna protested.

"Not because he intended me harm," Erik tried to explain, and found himself unable. He had divulged everything about Christine to her, but how could he explain his lack of anger over the events inside Paris? How could he tell her that he had never blamed Christine, nor Raoul for what he had done? And Erik had certainly never blamed the Daroga for his own grievous misdeeds.

"He did what he thought was right, Susanna," Erik said, clasping her hand beneath his clothing. "What would have happened to me if I had killed an innocent man, or harmed that girl? I wouldn't have been able to live with myself."

He felt Susanna kiss his shoulders, and her arms tightened around him.

"Forget it, Erik. I'm sorry I brought it up," Susanna said softly.

The tone that she used with him was placating and gentle, but it rubbed at Erik's nerves in an agonizing way. There had been a treble of fear in her words, though he knew it was not himself that she feared. It was his past, coming back to haunt them. It was the ghost, and the ghosts of Paris that threatened her. How could he make her see that nothing could destroy their future? The Daroga would not now betray him, and the only people left who knew of his existence were Madame Giry, Christine, and Raoul.

"The...the young couple...," Erik began, only to hear Susanna blow out a frustrated breath at his cowardice to speak their names. Mustering his strength, Erik tried again. "Christine and Raoul will not betray me, Susanna."

There. He'd said their names, and ended his sentence with a better one - the name of his fiancée.

"How can you know that? First there was the murder here in Artenay and the police immediately suspected you! Then my mother, Raymonde Dessian, and Mirela all arrived in Artenay! Now am I to expect regular guests from your past , increasing the chances that someone might recognize you and turn you over to the gendarmes?"

"I never met Monsieur Dessain," Erik reminded her. "And I assure you, there will be no more guests. If the Vicomte knew I was in France, most likely he would be elsewhere with his bride."

"Erik! This is not funny!" Susanna wailed into the night.

Abruptly Erik stopped their horses, leaned to the side and grasped Susanna around the waist from behind, then hauled her small protesting body around to the front. Wide eyed in the darkness, she faced him on horseback.

"Oh, this is positively indecent!"

"Yes," Erik agreed. "Does it take your mind off trouble?"

Susanna squirmed. "Not _exactly_."

"Then I will take you to Paris and let you see for yourself," he said decisively.

"WHAT? I'm not letting you go to _Paris_! Are you mad?"

Erik wrapped his arms around Susanna and kissed her, aggressively feeling a need to show her that nothing would stop their wedding - not the gendarmes, not Christine or Raoul, and not a single damned thing or person in Paris. If it was Paris Susanna feared, then Erik would show her the city he'd breathed and loved for as long as he could remember.

"Paris was my home, Susanna. I know every single thing about Paris, every street, every tunnel, and every flame of gossip that exists. I also know that if someone were determined to betray me, I would be less safe in Artenay, because there is nowhere for me to hide." Susanna's worried expression tugged at Erik's heart, and he knew that it was truly something he would have to do. He didn't intend to go back to the opera house, but he would show her that too if she liked. Seeing Madame Giry and her cool, sensible demeanor might be just the thing to ease Susanna's mind. And after Erik had seen the Daroga this evening, he'd had this swirling thought that perhaps he needed to see the woman who had taken care of him with a grumbling reluctance for the better part of two decades.

Erik also felt restless and useless. Now that the house was complete, there was little for him to do for the wedding except wait.

"Come to Paris with me," Erik urged her. "Let me show you where I've been, and introduce you to Madame Giry. We'll buy your wedding dress there and gifts for the children."

Susanna stared at him, fear blossoming in her heart. Erik never wanted to go anywhere, and suddenly he desired to revisit Paris? Was that _all_ he wanted to revisit?

"And your soprano?" Susanna whispered, her voice barely an echo in the still night.

"I don't have a soprano," Erik answered with a gentle smile. "I have a warbler, and I give you credit for that."

- -

Sorry the updates aren't as frequent as usual. I'm spacing them out so I don't have to wrack my brain as hard during the week.


	23. The Truth about Erik

Thank you for your continued patience. As a treat, I will be including much more of Erik in future chapters, since it was his damned story in the first place.

Ahem...

- -

In all, Anthony thought the conversation with Monsieur Talbot had gone remarkably well. Anthony had not needed the added pressure of asking for a private meeting in Lily's father's study, nor the drama of announcing it over breakfast. He had simply waited until everyone left the table, then calmly asked permission to court Lily.

And Colin, not one to display emotion unless under extreme stress or alone with his wife, gave his acquiescence without hesitating.

Lily and Anthony spent the rest of the day in a soulful daze, carefully observed by everyone in a new and knowing light. Overall it did not feel unnatural to Lily to sit near Anthony with the shyest of smiles as he occasionally touched her hand, nor did it feel strange to catch a sweet smile that her mother and Grandmother Talbot shared.

The only surprise that day came when Erik and Susanna announced that they would be returning to Paris with Farid, and Emma encouraged Anthony and Lily to go along.

That suggestion drew a frown from Colin, and he permitted it only after giving a stern, private warning to Erik that the behavior he'd witnessed in Orleans between him and Susanna would not be allowed with Anthony and Lily.

"You have my word, Father," Erik had replied, meaning it.

Two days later, the five of them were bound for Paris.

- -

Paris, Erik decided, was unchanging. He could feel everyone near him watching as he peered out the hotel window like a boy reuniting with a lost friend. This city had welcomed him and had never known it. Oh, the occupants might not have embraced him, but the streets themselves had been his home. Nights had been his domain, as it continued to be for other creatures of darkness, and at night Paris was more alive than most people realized.

"Lily, do you wish to meet Madame Giry?" Erik asked her, willing to give her some leniency while they were here. He had already spoken with Anthony, and had received the man's word that nothing would happen between him and Lily. Of course, he had given that same promise to Henri, but it would not do to have Madame Giry reveal some dark secret to Anthony Favero if he were to accompany him on their visit.

"Didn't you say she was a crabby old woman, who didn't particularly like you?" Lily quizzed Erik.

Erik smiled. "That also describes our Grandmother, you know."

Lily's face scrunched up. "No thanks. I'd rather go shopping or perhaps enjoy some music in the gardens."

"Very well. The Daroga, Susanna, and I will be gone for about two hours. I _trust_," he said quietly, looking at Anthony discreetly, "that you will find somewhere other than the hotel to spend your time."

"I already have plans for us," Lily announced, her sharp mine whirring with excitement. Unbeknownst to Erik, she could no longer keep his secret, and really, Erik had invited the truth by bringing Anthony to Paris. "We will see you at supper this evening."

"Susanna arranged for us to dine alone tonight," Erik stated with a frown. "You may both join us. I have no wish for another...public...gathering."

"I can take your sister out for dinner, if it would please you," Anthony offered politely.

"Since you are staying in a hotel across town, I hope it won't inconvenience you?"

"Not at all."

Susanna and Lily rolled their eyes at the subtle masculine machinations. Lily just wished for them to be gone. Her hand curled around a key inside her reticule, waiting, like fire that was nearly uncontained.

"Very well, then I do believe it is time for us to leave. Susanna?" Erik prompted his nervous fiancée. "Shall we go meet the Daroga downstairs?"

"Oh, Erik," Susanna grumbled, but she allowed him to lead her from the room.

- -

"You're being very mysterious," Anthony told Lily as she climbed into the carriage behind him. From the moment Erik had left their sight, Lily had adopted a mischievous gleam. One that had Anthony worried, for he had not only vowed to keep his own intentions with her honest, he was determined to keep Lily from getting herself into trouble.

But the girl had secretively whispered a location into the carriage driver's ear, and she sat across from Anthony with impish delight.

"You'll see," Lily promised, unable to sit still for very long. She produced the key, and Anthony's eyes fell to it. "Do you know what this is?"

"It looks like a key," he replied drolly. "Perhaps I'm mistaken, and it's merely a pen."

"This key unlocks the secrets to the most brilliant musician Paris has ever seen," Lily said, laying it on thick. But, she was referring to Erik, and she believed it with all her heart. "I was only allowed in the room once – and only briefly -"

"This sounds like a ghost story," Anthony muttered. "Where is your spooky voice and graveyard?"

Lily frowned as Anthony unknowingly stole her thunder. "This _is_ a ghost story, in fact, a very good ghost story!"

Anthony lay his head back on the carriage seat, resigned to whatever game she had planned. "Is there a possibility that we will be arrested?"

"Well..."

"Lily," Anthony scolded.

"We won't be," Lily said, but her tone indicated her indecisiveness. They would technically be trespassing, but Erik's music was worth it. Her father hadn't been able to stand the sight of that underground home, but Lily had been entranced with it. From the moment she had entered Erik's secluded world, she had known her brother's every thought inside that slightly morbid home.

She nearly had Anthony blindfold himself once they arrived, and they each stared up at the empty opera house in fascinated awe.

"It's beginning to make sense to me now," Anthony said quietly. "The mask, the fear of authorities, and now an opera house."

Lily grinned and tugged his arm, pulling him away from the front entrance and leading him to the little door that The Daroga had showed her and her father over two months ago. "Come on. I promise this will be great."

Anthony stared doubtfully into the dark passage. "I don't think we should be in here, Lily. This place could be dangerous."

"It _is_ dangerous. But Erik left some music down here my father didn't take the time to retrieve when he came for Erik's opera score."

She pulled him further inside and left the door open as she lit a lamp, still in place from her last visit. Anthony glanced around nervously at the dusty passageway, and insisted on going first.

"It's a long way down," Lily whispered, having no idea why she felt the need to be quiet. This place was a tomb that did not revere the dead.

"Down?" Anthony asked, bewildered, and a few moments later they began the descent.

- -

"The stories about him weren't true," Lily informed Anthony as he led her down into the darkness. "Most of them, anyway. Erik was a thief, and a trickster, but he commanded the excellence of this opera house. Everyone obeyed the ghost, and it is well known how successful this company was. They couldn't have done it without him."

Intrigued, Anthony couldn't summon a harsh word against the man. Naturally he'd heard of the Opera Ghost. Who hadn't? Most theaters hoped that they could be haunted by a ghost, and many claimed that they were. But no ghost had gained such fame as this one. The one who dared to love a soprano and forced his own work to be performed.

It had been sensationalized, naturally, and Anthony had laughed along with the story when he first heard it, just as he remembered Lily and Jackson doing. As stories went, it was fantastic. As a true story though – Anthony realized that he had been in the company of a legend and had never known it.

He said nothing to Lily, but wondered about the murders. As spooky as this place was, he couldn't deny that it seemed a likely place in which to hide – or to hide a body.

"We're almost there," Lily whispered. "The Daroga brought us down here and explained there is a difference in stones for each basement."

Lily had been trailing her hand along the wall and had noticed a change from rough to smooth, then back to rough as they twisted through various passageways. Farid had also explained the way, which was always two lefts then three rights. Lily hoped she had not messed any up.

"Was it really necessary for him to live here?"

"You saw his face, didn't you?" Lily asked sharply. "Can you imagine how he felt, coming away from that awful middle eastern province?"

Anthony, who knew nothing about Erik's assassin days, kept his mouth shut. It seemed the less he knew about Erik now, the better. But he was very interested in what he might find at the end of the tunnel.

And just when Anthony was about to complain that they would never find that end, he began to make out the strangest, most unexpected entryway.

--

Madame Giry had been having a normal Sunday. First she had gone to church, grateful to see Meg there who had so little time these days with her own busy life. Then she dined alone because Meg had promised to spend an hour creating a dance to teach the younger performers at her small studio and once again, was too busy for her aging mother.

After reading quietly beside an open window and taking no particular pleasure in the book, she was disturbed by a quiet knock on her door. Grateful for company, even if it might be the iceman, she hurried to the door on spry legs, forgetting her cane.

When she opened the door, she nearly had apoplexy.

"Madame Giry," Erik greeted her politely.

"Oh God, not you," she whispered, leaning weakly against her door frame. "What do you want _now_?"

Disarmed by Erik's sudden smile, and by the petite, frizzy haired woman who sprang out from behind him, Madame Giry almost had another seizure.

"Tea, would be fine," Erik stated calmly, then brushed past her with the characteristic manner of the man who had demanded her compliance for the last seventeen years of her life.

"Hello," the petite woman said awkwardly. "I'm Susanna Croix. Erik's fiancée. And you remember The Daroga?"

Susanna pitied the old woman who had slumped against the wall. Such a shock it must have been to see Erik after all this time, and she couldn't blame her for the fear. Erik certainly had not made himself a popular guest in the past.

"F-fiancée?"

"Well, he asked nicely this time, so I agreed to marry him," Susanna said, her tone hinted with laughter. "We are just here for a visit, Madame. Erik was anxious for me to meet you."

Erik walked back into the foyer where Madame Giry stared rather awkwardly at Susanna and The Daroga. For a moment his nervousness took him again, but the best way to deal with the old ballet mistress had always been rudeness.

"Are you deaf, woman? I said tea would be fine."

"Erik!" Susanna slapped his arm, noticing Madame Giry and The Daroga both looked at her as if she'd committed a sin. "Since you are so eager to prove your lack of manners, you may _escort_ Madame Giry into her sitting room and I will make _her_ some tea."

Too baffled to argue, Madame Giry took Erik's immediately proffered arm and allowed him to lead her to a chair.

"If I disturb you too greatly, I'll leave," Erik said generously. "You aren't expecting company are you?"

"No."

"I'm not here to hurt you or otherwise inconvenience you, Madame. I don't want to make you worry that I might be looking to cause trouble."

Erik watched as she looked away, smoothed out the fabric of her skirt, and sniffled. Usually the woman had nerves of steel, but Erik detected a new frailty within the aging woman. Or perhaps, it was loneliness.

"I am sorry for everything, Audra," Erik said gently, feeling a well of shame he hadn't realized would plague him over this woman. "You were always kind to me, and I know that I nearly destroyed your life."

"Mmmph." Was the only sound Erik heard from her as she covered her mouth with her hand. Erik stood quickly, feeling embarrassed and guilty.

"I'm sorry to have disturbed you. I won't bother you again," he mumbled as he turned away.

"Wait...wait, please," Madame Giry whispered.

She turned her eyes now to the man who had always been there, the man she'd felt always watching over her, Meg, and Christine. It wasn't Erik she had feared, though she had barely known him. It was the anger of the Opera Ghost, and the useless need to mother and protect a man who had obviously not known much kindness.

"Don't leave yet...Erik."


	24. Find Your Own Happiness

Lily became so occupied with watching Anthony's reaction to Erik's home that she almost forgot to look around for the music. Disbelief, awe, fascination, it was the same way Lily and her father had felt when the Persian had brought them earlier in the summer, and she felt the same way even now.

"He actually lived here?" Anthony asked. "By himself?"

"For close to twenty years," Lily confirmed softly. "Until the night of the fire over a year ago."

"Why in God's name did he ever leave Artenay?"

Anthony picked up the remnants of a torn bridal veil, blackened from lying on the floor of the strange home that he was in, Erik's home, the home of the Paris Opera Ghost. The room echoed of sadness, loneliness, and by the looks of things, a slight madness. As odd of a place to live as it seemed to be, it was obvious that it had been well tended at one time. The remnants now of broken glass and scattered sheet music were signs of a man driven nearly insane by music.

As a composer himself, Anthony could well understand that such a thing was possible. He was fortunate in that he did not suffer from the same bouts of melancholy that many of his friends, and even Monsieur Talbot did, but Anthony knew that most musically driven people were subject to such emotional problems.

"Why would an eleven year old boy run away from home? Didn't he know that the town would have taken care of him?" Anthony asked Lily.

She took the veil from him, staring at it and thinking of Christine. "How did your mother die, Anthony?"

"She was ill," he answered quietly. "I believe it was consumption, but she had other ailments."

"Francine died of stupidity," Lily said bluntly. "I always felt that if she had been truly concerned for her son she would have taken Erik as far from Artenay as possible. My father would have taken care of her, or she could have taken the money that her husband had stolen and made a new life for them both. But she chose to stay, and her husband came back."

"You cannot blame his mother for what happened."

"I don't, really. But personal experience has taught me that a woman must take care of herself," Lily said, throwing him carefree smile. "Especially if she finds herself at the mercy of a man."

The absolute quiet below the theater gave Anthony a nervous feeling. As a boy he'd always hated ghost stories, and so far this one was the worst, even if the ghost had been demystified. "That doesn't explain why he ran away," he said, wishing to hear a noise even if it was his own voice.

"I think Susanna's mother had quite a bit to do with it. You know, the woman that Jackson shot?"

"Ah, the libertine," Anthony murmured, thinking of Jackson's ready to be published novel. "It is a good thing Susanna turned out more like her father."

"Yes," Lily agreed. She spied a loose sheaf of papers on a desk that she hadn't noticed the last time and began to gather them up. Anthony didn't understand why Erik would live down here, and he certainly wouldn't understand it if she told him that she would have welcomed this solitude at one point in her life. "I've seen him change so much over this summer. Susanna did that for him. She made him feel like a normal man for the first time in his life. And I hope that they find whatever they are looking for in Paris."

Anthony studied Lily as she began to sort through the music, muttering to herself about her brother's organizational skills. He understood now that the reason for coming here was not to purchase wedding items or to meet some old woman that Erik claimed did not like him. It was for closure. Erik needed to close his past, to put away the Opera Ghost once and for all. And Anthony found that he did not like being in Erik's house as part of it. He felt as if he were intruding on a dark memory that no one had been meant to see.

"We should go, Lily. Erik wouldn't want us to be here," Anthony said quietly.

"Just a few more moments, then we'll leave," Lily replied, distracted by a book on the desk. She glanced up to see Anthony wandering off, then turned her nose back to the book.

What she found was quite shocking indeed.

-----,------_'--- _

"Tea, Madame Giry?" Susanna asked with a smile.

The older woman nodded in surprise as the Opera Ghost's fiancée poured tea into her priceless china. The girl was certainly pretty, though she looked nothing like Christine. Fair where Christine was dark, and cheerful when Christine was somber. This was certainly not the sort of woman Madame Giry would have thought Erik to choose.

"How...ah...long have you been engaged?" Madame Giry asked nervously.

"For about a month," Susanna said, still smiling. "The wedding is in just a few weeks, but Erik wished for me to meet you. I hope this isn't a disturbance."

"Not at all," she replied, gazing at Erik. "Just a surprise. I thought he was dead."

"It takes more than hysterical screaming to kill me," Erik said jokingly, though no one laughed.

Audra and the Persian looked very uncomfortable around one another, and only Susanna seemed to be at ease. Odd, considering she had been more reluctant than Erik to come here.

There was a looming giant in the room, one that Erik knew he could no longer ignore. Erik hesitated to ask the question, but it had been weighing on his mind since the night of the fire. Even with, or perhaps because Susanna was beside him, he felt it was necessary to ask. Erik reached for Susanna's hand, and met Madame Giry's eyes.

"How is Christine?"

Madame Giry's eyes wavered for a moment in doubt until Erik gave her a reassuring smile.

"I didn't ask where," he said lightly. "I have no intention of finding her. But I would like to know if she is happy. Please, Audra, for my own peace of mind."

"Christine married the Vicomte," she said, her tone almost a warning.

"I know," Erik replied in a dutifully placid voice. "I did not expect otherwise."

Madame Giry straightened her already straight spoon on the small table in front of her, taking forever to respond. "I had tea with her last month. She is doing very well, and appears to have taken to marriage with open arms."

"Then she is happy?" Erik asked, relieved when Madame Giry nodded at his eager tone.

"Yes, I think so." She hesitated for the veriest of seconds, then added, "They have moved back to Paris temporarily. Raoul has taken another commission in the military, and they expect to be traveling to Africa soon."

"Africa?" Susanna repeated, then gave Erik a sharp nudge. "I thought you said Christine was meant to sing."

"She is. Or she was." Erik cleared his throat, surprised to find anger flaring at the thought of Christine's talent being wasted. "With her voice, she should be able to sing on whichever stage she chooses to grace. But she chose to marry an aristocrat, and I doubt he will allow her to follow her dreams."

"Perhaps those were your dreams," Madame Giry said quietly, "and not Christine's."

Firmly put in his place by the former ballet mistress, Erik could only nod. She was undoubtedly right about that, though as Christine's music teacher and friend, he knew that his dream had become hers, just as his heart had belonged to her, however briefly.

"She is happy?" Erik asked again.

"I've never seen her happier," Madame Giry replied, then reluctantly added, "except for when she was singing."

Erik glanced away, pride and love for the girl that Christine had been swelling in his heart. It had not been mindless obsession and lust that he felt for her after all, he realized, otherwise now he would feel nothing. He had loved her, but never in the way that he expected. He did not love Christine the way that he loved Susanna, nor the way that Christine loved Raoul.

The girl had grown, changed to a woman, a wife. Raoul would provide her with everything she wanted, and it barely hurt now to think that Christine would never look back at what she might have had with her teacher.

Erik felt Susanna tug at his hand, and he glanced over to see her brave smile. Peace washed over him, and he knew that now he could say goodbye to his past forever.

"If the subject ever arises," Erik said, staring into Susanna's eyes, "you may tell her that I have found my own happiness."

- -

Anthony studied Lily, curled up on the throne - like chair with her eyes eagerly absorbing the book. One glance at the title, _'The Perfumed Garden'_, had him shaking with laughter, and it went along so nicely with the look on her face that he thought he might die if he didn't say something.

"Is that book interesting?" Anthony finally asked.

Lily didn't even look up, and it became apparent as she flipped the page then turned the book in three different directions that she hadn't heard him. She bit her lip and squinted. "This can't be possible."

Anthony couldn't stop the snort that came out, which made Lily finally look up. Her eyes widened for a moment, then she frowned.

"Look at this!" She thumped the book with her forefinger and bounced on the chair. "As if this were real!"

Helplessly curious, Anthony went to her side and stared at the book lying open in her lap. "Hmm."

"Anthony!"

He ran a hand through her hair and chuckled. "I love it when you say my name like that, as if _I_ were the one reading naughty books."

Lily flushed. "This isn't mine."

"Obviously."

"It belongs to Erik."

"I gathered," he said dryly.

"Erik was a virgin," she blurted out. "He must have been insanely puzzled."

Anthony cleared his throat and raised his eyes heavenward. "Poor bastard."

"He's not anymore," Lily added, becoming flustered. "He and Susanna...I mean...that is to say..."

"Lily, I understand. You need not reveal your brother's experience, or lack thereof."

Lily turned her eyes back to the picture of the man and woman in a rather awkward looking position. "Can a man really do that with his...?"

"I suppose he could, were he, accommodating enough," Anthony replied, then swallowed hard as Lily glanced at the front of his trousers. "Lily-"

"Are you?"

He should have known she would ask, though she looked only half as embarrassed as he felt. "I can only hope," he answered.

"I really don't think that's possible for any man," Lily said, "or for any woman. But I could be wrong." She turned her head, then the book sideways, still looking for answers. With the book written in another language, it was impossible to discern if it was meant to be real or not.

"And here I thought you already knew everything."

Lily bit her lip, lashes fluttering down to her cheeks. "I was only with Duncan once. There has never been anyone else."

Anthony was silent for so long she finally peered up to find his gaze rather unsettling. She carefully set the book aside as he knelt in front of Erik's chair and took her hands.

"Why?" he asked suddenly. "Why did you ever _look_ at him?"

"I..."

Lily's tongue became thick and clumsy within her mouth, and at last she let out a long breath.

"I felt sorry for him."

"You what?" Anthony's jaw tightened so much he thought his teeth might break. Lily touched his cheek until he pressed a kiss to her palm and let out a slow breath, encouraging her to continue.

"I thought Duncan was handsome, yet when I would see him out socially he was so unapproachable. I guess I imagined that he was shy and quiet, maybe a little mysterious. None of the other girls would talk to him because he never did anything more than stare. I thought it was because he was listening, or perhaps nervous."

Lily's eyes were sad and soft, and Anthony realized that she finally had been able to put the whole traumatic episode with Duncan behind her. He had feared that she would return to her anger and then he would be caught in a relationship without affection, nor any hope for love to grow.

"I will never hit you," he promised. "I will do my best never to hurt you in any way."

Lily gave a wobbly smile. "May I tell you about that night?" Anthony nodded once. "The Pierce family held an annual Christmas party. Duncan's eldest brother invited me. He's a baron, you know."

"I know," Anthony smirked, thinking of the entire Pierce family and the way they held such pride in the small, moneyless barony. All males, and all without much common sense. The hell of it was that Duncan was widely considered the favorite because his quiet manners were preferable to those of his obnoxiously rude brothers.

"Duncan's brother said, 'show her the family portraits gallery', so Duncan did. And I th-thought it was so funny because all of his ancestors were rather – fat. Duncan wasn't, but all of his brothers are. I said that given enough time he would be as round as the rest of them."

Anthony stopped breathing and merely stared at her. A spark of anger flared in his eyes, and immediately his hand reached up to caress her cheek. The gesture made it difficult for Lily to think, and the sweetness of it touched her heart.

"I laughed at my own joke, but Duncan didn't. He just stared at me, but that wasn't unusual. I...I didn't think anything of it until he..."

"Lily," Anthony whispered, and pulled her against his chest. "I'm so sorry."

"I shouldn't have provoked him," she said, her words muffled by his clothing.

"You do not blame yourself!" Anthony said forcefully. "Do you understand? What happened was his fault, not yours. You cannot blame yourself for his deception, nor for his cruelty."

"But-"

"Don't argue with me, dammit. It wasn't your fault!"

Lily pressed her face against Anthony's body, taking him in through sightless wonder. In this dark world, away from everything that felt normal and safe, Anthony had pulled her away from sadness yet again. He could do that, Lily realized, without even trying. All he had to do was put his arms around her.

But then he had to say the most damnable thing.

"Lily...if you decide, when you decide...you decide to end our arrangement, then I want you to know that I won't stop you. I don't want to make things difficult or painful for you, ever. I will never hurt you, not in any way."

Lily's eyes widened and she let out a small breath of surprise. "I don't know what to say, Anthony."

"You don't have to say anything," he said softly, needing her to know that it would always be her choice. His heart was already deeply involved, but Lily needed to know that he would never bind her with guilt, which she seemed to take enough on herself without any help. He could only hope that she might realize that there could be something more between them than a false courtship, something like a real one that ended with a real wedding. But he had to let Lily come around to the idea on her own. "One day you might meet and fall in love with someone, and if you wish to be free then I will let you have your choice."

Lily felt a blow to her heart, though she had said herself that she didn't believe in love. Was he truly giving her a choice, or was he only giving them both a way out of the drama that her grandmother had trapped them into? The seriousness of Anthony's tone forced her to nod, but she felt as if her heart had just gotten a little smaller.


	25. The Mystery of Love

iamphantomgirl and her betas will be taking a break after this story is finished, but I want to plug the new story entitled _Promethean. _It will be an Erik/Christine fic and is showing a lot of promise!!! Be sure to add me to your author alerts so you can get an email when I post the first chapter. The story you are currently reading will hopefully be finished by chapter 35. Keep your fingers crossed and your eyes peeled...!

Madame Giry watched Erik's pretty little fiancée bustle around her parlor, arranging the tea tray and worrying over Erik when he somehow managed to both drop a cookie and smash it with his boot into her rug. The girl was completely unlike Christine, Madame Giry thought. Beautiful and spirited, she could tell by the way they spoke to each other that this was Erik's real love. Madame Giry was glad that Erik had found someone strong enough to deal with his moods and give him the love that she knew he had always wanted.

"Tell me, how is Meg?" Erik asked, trying to keep a sober face despite the mess he had made.

Madame Giry smiled, surprised that he had asked, but entirely willing to discuss her favorite subject. "She's an assistant to the ballet mistress at the Comique," Madame Giry answered proudly. "I've never seen her so happy. She especially loves working with the younger children."

"Good. That's good," Erik replied softly, secretly thinking that Meg might never make it if she didn't adopt some of her mother's tough-as-nails strategies. Meg was entirely too soft hearted to discipline students even half as severely as her cane wielding mother. "And you, Audra. Why aren't you teaching?"

"Bah, those imbeciles would not hire me as ballet mistress because I was too old, and besides I would not have accepted Meg's position at my age anyway."

Erik cast what seemed to be a nonchalant glance around the room, but he was taking inventory of the furnishings to ensure that nothing was amiss. He'd have to remember to ask Susanna if there had been plenty of food stocked in the kitchen. It would not do for Audra to ever worry about where her next meal might come from. He had always looked out for Audra, Meg, and Christine, and he found it difficult to stop now.

"How are you fairing in your retirement then?"

"Well, you provided that, of course," Madame Giry replied warmly.

"Me?" Erik said, his eyebrow lifting. "What did I do?"

"You forced Poligny to set up that retirement account for me. Remember?"

"Ah, yes," Erik responded with a slow smile. "I had forgotten. A retirement salary for you, in exchange for the halt of one month's worth of pranks."

"That poor man would have given anything for you to stop stealing his pocketbook," Madame Giry chuckled.

"Erik!" Susanna admonished, but found it difficult to be truly angry with him when even the silent Persian was smiling.

"Poligny had it coming," Erik said defensively. "The opera had the best ballet mistress in all of Paris, and he constantly assigned a million other chores for her. It was a gross mismanagement of her true talent and passion. She should have been making twice as much money; instead I told him to set up the retirement account."

"And he did," Madame Giry replied, her black eyes bright with pride. "If I had not had such a forceful man protecting my interests, I would have been far more worn down than I already am."

The ballet mistress shared a long and tender look with Erik, hoping he could see that despite the past, she was still fond of him, even with his unconventional methods. She had slept soundly every night, knowing that she was protected and her girls would never suffer some of the same horrible things that other female performers had.

"Are you content?" Erik asked, stressing to her again the importance of her well being.

"I'm old and lonely," Madame Giry said bluntly. "It is difficult to be isolated when you have lived with a family as large as mine was for so many years. The opera house was all that I ever knew."

"I'm sorry, Audra," Erik said, lowering his eyes. Heat crawled up his neck as he felt the familiar sting of shame, and for a moment he remembered every single thing that had brought him to this part of his life. Thankfully one of the last memories was of Susanna, and her sweet words of love. "I am deeply sorry for everything."

Madame Giry's eyes softened on him. How could she blame Erik, when all he had ever wanted was love? She reached for his hand, surprising him immensely.

"Audra?" Erik questioned, looking uncertain.

"Tell me what you have planned for your wedding," she murmured, and witnessed the ghost truly smile for the first time.

- -

Lily followed Anthony from Erik's home, each of them carrying what had to be every single composition that Eirk had ever written, which was substantial, and several odds and ends that had caught her eye. Most notably was a mechanical toy monkey, holding a pair of cymbals. Lily thought it would be the perfect gift for Daniel, even if it was a little mangy looking.

"What are you going to tell Erik?" Anthony asked, his voice muffled from the ream of papers he was balancing between his chin and arms.

"Why, that I stole his key, trespassed onto the opera's grounds, where I subsequently stole the rest of his music," Lily replied negligently. "Of course I shall mention my accomplice. What else would I tell him?"

Anthony grunted as the climb steepened towards the ever increasing light. Almost there, thank God. This was their second trip, and he hoped the carriage was still waiting for them. "Perhaps you could tell him that someone anonymously left them on your hotel bed?" he asked hopefully.

Lily's answering laughter echoed too loudly in the tunnel and Anthony winced. He doubted that anyone would be around this late, and it was his every hope that they could return to the hotel, drop the items off inside Lily's room, then go to dinner before Erik returned from Madame Giry's.

"What do you think he will do with all of this?"

"Burn it," Lily muttered. "Which is why I intend to give it to my father, not Erik."

Good luck hiding it, Anthony thought, but at least she wouldn't tell Erik anytime soon how they had spent their day.

- -

"So, what did you do today?"

Anthony grimaced at the question, caught in the hallway outside Lily's door as Erik stared at the dust and debris hanging from his hair and clothing. It had been too much to hope – obviously – that Erik would not see him until after he had changed his clothing. Anthony had been on his way to his own hotel, on the other side of Paris no less, when Erik and Susanna had come up the stairs. Thankfully Lily was inside her room changing. The hem on her dress had looked as if she'd actually swept the opera house with it.

"I...your sister...," Anthony stammered, waving his hand behind him. "She's adventurous."

Immediately he could tell Erik suspected something far more sinister, because the masked man looked ready to swing at him until Susanna placed a restraining hand upon his arm.

"No!" Anthony said quickly, shaking his head. "No. No. Not _that_ sort of adventure!"

"Well thank God for that at least!" Erik barked, but continued to stare at him, obviously unwilling to back down until he had his answer.

"Well..."

"Erik, let him go or we will be late for dinner!" Lily snapped, opening her door wide enough to reveal her own disheveled appearance. "We were on a scavenger hunt and took a tumble down a hill. Now let him go so he can change. I'm starving, and if I don't eat soon someone might get hurt."

Erik gave her an innocent, brotherly smile. "By all means Anthony, do go change. I certainly wouldn't want Lily to break a fingernail in a feeble attempt to do me harm."

"Feeble!" Lily spewed, unable to stop the challenging flutter of her competitive heart. "So now I'm feeble?"

"As well as batty, acid tongued, and possibly dull witted," Erik replied drolly.

Lily's mouth fell open in outrage, and Anthony took the opportunity to slink behind Susanna who was shaking with laughter and made his escape.

"I'll show you feeble," Lily offered with an evil smile, ignoring the fact that she was barefoot and in a public hallway. Thankfully it was empty other than the four of them, and she lunged forward and pinched her brother just the way she used to do with Jackson.

"Ouch!" Erik yelped, rubbing at the tender spot. "That was my...," he lowered his voice, even though his words couldn't be heard above Susanna's burst of laughter, "that was my nipple, you little witch! Why in God's name would you – ouch! Damn you!"

Erik stepped out of her range, resisting the urge to rub each sore nipple. Nipple, he thought, was not a word he wished to describe any part of his body. Unfortunately he did not have a better label for it, and therefore could not call it anything else.

"Get dressed," he ordered, "and God help Anthony if he has any true intention of marrying you."

The mischievous light in Lily's eyes immediately faded to hurt, but Erik had already swept past her and didn't notice.

Susanna, however, could see that his words had upset Lily, and she waved Erik away when he paused outside his own hotel door.

Lily released a trembling breath and leaned against the door, a sudden urge to weep quickly rising inside her.

"Lily are you alright?" Susanna asked gently.

The younger girl sniffled suspiciously and glanced away. "I need to dress for dinner."

"Something is wrong," Susanna said intuitively. She became concerned when Lily nodded once in agreement. "What is it? You can tell me anything, Lily."

Lily glanced down the hall, knowing her brother likely had his ear pressed to the door, waiting to devour anything she said. "Come in," she whispered quickly. "I need to talk to someone. I can't tell Erik about this."

Lily shut the door behind Susanna and debated her words carefully, watching as Susanna immediately went to the mountain of papers that she and Anthony had brought in from the opera house.

"Lily, what is all of this?"

"Anthony and I went to the opera house today," she answered quietly. Yes, the opera house, where Anthony had all but slipped the bridle from her head and slapped her rump as a jumpstart to freedom. Or perhaps it was his own bridle he wished to remove, she thought dully.

"These are Erik's things?" Susanna murmured.

"Yes."

Susanna immediately dropped to her knees on the floor and began inspecting each item, wishing she could read music as she could read words. It could tell her so much more about the friend she had lost for so many years. Things he probably didn't even think were important, things about Christine, which Susanna still wondered about, especially after the visit with Madame Giry.

"My word, all this music!" Susanna gasped, picking up piles and piles of disorganized pieces. "How...why...?"

"I believe you are marrying a pack rat," Lily said wearily. "And he gets it purely from our father, who has a private composing room at home with possibly twice as much music as Erik's house had."

"This is amazing! Look!" Susanna exclaimed, leaping to her feet. "They are dated! And there seems to be a numbering system! We could arrange it all for him..."

Susanna trailed off, her mind spinning in a million brilliant directions.

"Susanna?" Lily prompted, clearing her throat. "I do need to tell you something. I need your advice."

Snapped out of her daze, Susanna politely set the music down and moved to Lily's side. "I'm sorry Lily. Please tell me. Whatever it is, I promise I'll keep it confidential."

"Yes," Lily said, and took a deep breath. "The thing is...Anthony and I are not really engaged."

Susanna's sharp inhale was the only thing that Lily heard for several moments, and she waited for the inevitable berating words to fly from Susanna's mouth. Lily looked away, embarrassed by the confession as dull memories of her last 'engagement' flashed through her mind. Duncan's betrayal made everything so much worse, and more than anything Lily feared never being taken seriously by a man again.

"How did this happen?" Susanna asked, carefully avoiding accusing the girl of wrongdoing. Obviously it had taken a good reason for Lily to lie to her entire family. Grandmother Talbot and Emma would be devasted. Erik and Colin would be furious.

Lily swallowed convulsively, feeling slightly ill under the pressure of the truth. "Anthony and I were..."

"Oh, Lily," Susanna cried in dismay.

"No...no! We were only kissing! I promise!" Lily said, defending her actions vehemently. "But Grandmother Talbot caught us, and she threatened to tell my father if Anthony didn't do something!"

"Grandmother Talbot!" Susanna exclaimed. "She...she..."

Lily groaned and began taking her hair down, knowing Anthony would probably arrive to take her to dinner in an hour. "I know! I was content with the way things were! He would kiss me but did not demand anything more of me, and now suddenly we are courting and unsure of how to behave with each other! I wish this were less confusing!"

Lily tugged at her dress, deciding that as long as she was venting she may as well get ready. She had not lied to Erik about being hungry but as eager as she was for dinner, it was the time alone with Anthony that made her feel nervous. "Anthony agreed to go along with the charade. I did nothing to stop him, but now he tells me that if I wish to be free, then I can toss him. Why would he say that? Answer me!"

Astounded, Susanna tried to speak but nothing came from her open mouth. Well, it seemed that everyone was wrong about Lily having feelings for Anthony, but from the way it sounded, things were not going well. Susanna watched as Lily furiously yanked her gown off and began to violently brush her hair wearing only her corset and bloomers.

"And another thing!" Lily began to rail, but was interrupted by the delicate cough from Susanna. "What?"

"Lily, I think what Anthony meant was that he did not want to pressure you if you were not ready for a true courtship. Perhaps he is afraid you will reject him," Susanna said calmly. "Every man fears it, you know. When Julien proposed to me he had sweat himself into a sickness. I thought he had food poisoning!"

Lily frowned. "I watched Erik propose to you. He didn't seem nervous at all."

"Sometimes you want something so badly that saying nothing is more terrifying than asking," Susanna replied, remembering the look in Erik's eyes that her heart had felt as if it had been kicked rather hard. A thought occurred to her then, and she sank down onto Lily's bed and met her dark eyes. "Lily, do you love Anthony?"

Lily's hand trembled as she set the brush down, and she closed her eyes and let the question through to her heart. Love? Was it the same as desire, or did it pose a more potent threat than merely the wish to embrace someone and never let go? Perhaps love was feeling safe and comforted when you were in that person's arms, and wishing to return that feeling.

Or perhaps it was what Erik had with Susanna, and Lily did not see Anthony ever being as mad for her as those two were for one another. "Love?" Lily whispered, a wistful gaze upon her face. "I'm sure I don't know what love is. And I'm certain that I never will."


	26. Stranger at the Door

_Meanwhile, back in Artenay..._

Evening settled slowly around the Vallee house, like the change of summer to autumn, bringing with it a relieving, welcoming temperature that was several degrees cooler than the blazing heat that Mirela and Rachel had suffered through for most of the day. The doors and windows were open to allow whatever breeze that was blowing outside to come in while they proudly worked on new curtains for the kitchen, which was why they heard the footsteps on the porch long before they heard the knock at the door.

"Hello? Is anyone home?" An unfamiliar - and male - voice called out.

Rachel quickly dropped her curtains and retreated upstairs, whispering an apology to Mirela as she passed by. Mirela watched her go, hoping that one day the girl could welcome a visitor instead of hiding on the landing when someone came to call.

She tucked her own curtains aside and left the comfort of her living room, only to stop and stare in shock at the man standing on her threshold.

"Madame Purram," the well dressed man greeted her in a nasally tone.

It was the avocat from Paris! What was he doing here? Instantly Mirela stepped forward to block his admission into the home, wondering where Rand and Eli were. She felt her heart squeeze in trepidation at the unpleasant leer on the man's face.

"What do you want?" Mirela whispered in a low voice, hoping now that Rachel would stay upstairs.

"I've been trying to find you since you left Paris," he grunted. "Rather clever of you to slip off like that without signing the papers."

"Papers?" Mirela repeated slowly. "I don't know what you are talking about, Monsieur."

"Of course you don't," the man replied impatiently. "Obviously a woman would not understand the intricacies of a proper will. Now if you will sign, Madame Purram, I will be on my way."

Mirela once again blocked his attempt to move past her. "My name is Madame Vallee now, Monsieur, and you are not welcome into my home. You may leave. I'm not signing anything."

The man's thin face scrunched into a unflattering scowl, and with more force than necessary, he pushed past her. "Oh, you will sign, Madame. I can guarantee that you will sign."

"I did not give you permission to come in here, now leave! This is not Paris, and I am no longer under Mathias's thumb!" Mirela said, her tone rising and sharpening with each word. She feared for Rachel, and she feared for herself, though she had encountered this same man a few times and he'd never become violent. He was simply a rude, cruel man who was accustomed to pushing women around and getting whatever he pleased.

"Oh, no?" the avocat asked, his feigned casual tone sending a chill through her heart. He moved further into the house, taking in her new accommodations with delight. "This looks like a rather respectable place to live. Certainly the town seems to find you a delight. What would they say if they knew the truth about you?"

"Please leave," Mirela whispered, angry that this man had the ability to make her cry. She blinked away tears, praying that he would disappear and not lay eyes on Rachel. The girl could never withstand cruelty again. "Please, Monsieur, just leave."

"Sign this, and I will," he replied coldly, extending a legal document to her.

He jerked upright as a flurry of footsteps sounded from above, and Mirela knew that most likely Rachel had ran to her room and locked herself inside.

"Who is upstairs?" he demanded, swinging around to face her.

"N-no one. No one. Please, Monsieur," Mirela begged him, even going so far as to put her hand on his arm and pull him towards the door.

"Take your filthy hands off me," he growled, and roughly shoved her against the wall. "I know what you are, Madame. I heard how you have deceived this town into thinking you are a reformed and respectable woman. How shocked they will be to hear of your treachery!"

"No!"

The man straightened and brushed the imaginary imprint of her hand from his sleeve. "You will sign these papers authorizing me and my firm to take over the estate of Mathias Banks, or I will make sure every last person in this quaint village spits upon you before they drive you from their midst."

Sobbing now, Mirela reached for the papers with a shaking hand. Where was Rand? Where was Eli? She half hoped that they would stay away until she could get rid of this man, so her dark past could not taint their lives. The familiar feelings of hate and shame welled inside her, and she wondered how someone could be so cruel to another human being, especially one they didn't know.

"I need something to write with," Mirela whispered, taking the papers without looking at them.

"This is your house," he snapped. "Find something!"

Frozen, she tried to think of somewhere a pen might be. Rand did not have a study, nor even a desk. She had not even seen him write anything. Perhaps Rachel had something, but she would die before she ventured upstairs to ask the girl for anything.

"Move, damn you! I don't have all day!" Despite what he had said earlier about her touch, he grasped the back of her neck and steered her into the parlor. Mirela cried out as she tripped and fell against the sofa, then watched helplessly as he began to open drawers alongside the bookcase, muttering to himself. "Of all the places, you have to move in with a pack of illiterate farmers. Mathias would roll in his grave if he knew where you were."

"Mathias can rot in hell," Mirela gritted out. "And so can you."

The man turned and stalked across the room, and Mirela knew he would strike her by the look in his eyes. She could see it and do nothing, so she closed her eyes and waited.

The next thing she heard however, was an inhuman roar, and the sound of breaking glass. Mirela opened her eyes to see Rand on top of the avocat, where they had landed over a glass topped table that had been beside his favorite chair. Rand's face was contorted in fury, but it was nothing compared to the death-like whiteness of the other man. However, the avocat's shocked pallor quickly became red as Rand began to choke him.

"How dare you touch my wife! How dare you lay a hand on her!" Rand shouted, shaking the other man by the throat. He had never felt fury like this before – fury – and such fear. Rachel had run to the fields, screaming at the top of her lungs that a man was inside the house, and the first thing Rand had seen was his wife nearly lying on the floor and someone angrily stalking towards her.

"Sst-oop!" the man gasped, clawing at his hands. "Sst-oop...can't...breathe!"

"You won't need to breathe, you bastard, because you're going to be dead!"

Releasing the avocat long enough to draw his arm back, Rand punched him in the face with all his strength. Blood gushed from the man's nose and he howled in agony before his words were cut off by the return of Rand's hands to his throat.

"Uncle Rand!" he heard Eli shout, and then a pair of strapping arms locked around his body from behind and heaved him off. "You have to stop! You're going to kill him!"

"You're damn right I am!" Rand panted, lunging for the stranger once more. "With my bare hands!"

"Stop! Stop! Stop it now!" Rachel screamed, staring at them all with horror. Rand turned to find her small body shaking so hard that she pressed a hand to her stomach, obviously feeling ill.

Rand pushed the choking man away from him in disgust and got to his feet, concern quickly overtaking his rage. He glanced down at Mirela, then back at Rachel, and saw that even Eli was staring at him with wide, fearful eyes.

"Who the hell are you?" Rand asked, spinning back around to face Mirela's attacker. "What were you doing with my wife."

"P-papers," the man gasped, pointing at Mirela with a trembling hand. "S-sign...p-papers."

Rand turned to help Mirela to her feet, holding her steady gaze as he reached for the document in her hand. He scanned it briefly, then met her eyes again.

"I thought you forfeited the money," Rand said quietly.

"I did." Mirela swallowed, her face burning with shame. "Apparently there was a process I was not aware of. I thought it was simply enough that I left Paris."

"This says you must give your consent, even if you decide to forfeit the money. If you do not then it goes to charity."

Mirela's eyes widened, and she glanced down at the paper. "It does?"

Rand nodded slowly, turning back to the man. "Who are you, Monsieur? You have but a moment to tell me before I decide where to hide your body on my farm. I assure you it is large enough that no one would ever find you."

The man struggled and was finally able to sit up. He wiped his face with a handkerchief, then picked glass from his clothing.

"My name is Georges Banks," he said in a raspy voice. "I am Mathias's brother."

- -

Erik had no idea what was keeping Susanna in Lily's room so long, but he was beyond the first stages of impatience. Their dinner was due to arrive at any moment, and he could see no sign of his fiancée joining him. He had tapped on the door half an hour ago, only to have Susanna inform him that she and Lily were 'talking', as if they couldn't do that at any other time.

The meeting with Madame Giry had gone so well that Susanna had invited her along for the outing she had planned for her and Lily tomorrow, so really, this was to have been their night together alone. The next evening would be their last, as they only planned to stay in Paris for another day. There was nothing in the hotel room for Erik to amuse himself with, and before he wore a hole in the carpet by pacing, he decided to try Lily's door once more.

Erik snatched his door open with enough force to remove it from the hinges, startling Anthony who had been about to knock.

"Good God, are you trying to give me a heart attack?" Anthony wheezed, taking a step back. He stared at Erik's irritated expression, wondering if Erik knew what he had done with his sister earlier in the day. "I...was just informed that Lily will not be joining me for dinner. She and Susanna are 'talking'." Anthony offered.

"Wonderful," Erik muttered, turning away from the door. "You might as well come in. I'm certain there must be something to drink in here somewhere."

Anthony entered the small sitting area and watched Erik as he poured himself a drink, and saying nothing when he was not specifically offered anything. "Do you know what it is they are discussing?" Anthony questioned warily, sensing that it might just be about him, or perhaps Erik's music.

"I don't know, and don't particularly care, just as long as they wrap it up soon," Erik replied, taking a long draw of brandy, and trying to remember if he had actually eaten anything that day. "I never got a straight answer on where you took my sister today."

"She told you. We went on a scavenger hunt. Things got a bit out of hand," Anthony said, then winced as he gave another entendre. "That is to say...we were consumed by the game...nothing inappropriate happened. I told you that nothing would."

"That's good," Erik said, turning around with a slight smile. "Because I will kill you if you hurt my sister."

"I don't doubt it for a moment." Anthony slowly moved to sit down, thinking that he should just go back to his own hotel but not wanting to be rude. He realized that most people had probably avoided Erik his entire life, choosing to ignore him or fear him rather than to courteously stand and speak to him. "I would rather cut out my own heart than hurt Lily. I feel rather foolish telling you this, but her happiness has become very important to me over the last few weeks. When I think about what that bastard Pierce did to her..."

Erik watched Anthony clench his hands, and knew the man felt very strongly for her. Erik hoped with all his heart that it was love, and that Lily could return the emotion to Anthony. Lily deserved love. She deserved it more than anyone he knew, and if Anthony could give her what Susanna had given him then Erik promised himself that he would do whatever he could to help Lily. But if Anthony Favero thought for a second he could escape from the wrath of an angry brother should his sister become hurt in any way, then he was dead wrong.

"I should go down and re-direct our dinner," Erik muttered. "I'll send it to Lily's room and order another tray to be brought up. You may join me if you like."

"If I may...Erik...," Anthony offered politely. "I can see to the task."

Gratefully Erik nodded, and poured himself another drink. It was going to be an awkward dinner, and he couldn't help but feel disappointed at the change in his companion. Lily had better have a damn good reason for monopolizing Susanna's company up all night long.


	27. Men are the Devil

Because of the lack of enthusiasm for this story, I will not be doing Jackson's story. Sorry, I just don't see the need in stressing about his story if no one is reading. The reviews are not the problem. I'm getting a fair amount of reviews for the number of hits that I get. The problem is the hits themselves. So I'll have this wrapped up by chapter 33 or so, and take a much needed vacation. I'm writing Erik's wedding right now.

- -

"Mathias's brother?" Mirela repeated in disbelief, and Rand could detect the fear in her voice. "All these years, and you have said nothing to me!"

"You know this man?" Rand asked sharply, trying to determine exactly what was going on. Mirela appeared frozen for a moment, then she slowly shook her head.

"No, not exactly," she whispered, stepping behind Rand and peering at the man from over his shoulder. "This man and one or two others that he works for have bothered me for years. Always checking up on me, making sure that I obeyed the rules set forth in the will. He never told me his name, nor did the others."

"I was Mathias's attorney," Georges said roughly, "and his brother. You are nothing more than –"

"Monsieur I strongly suggest that you do not finish that sentence. As far as I am concerned your brother was a perverted criminal for his behavior toward this woman," Rand cut in, assuming a defensive stance once more. He would take this man and any other to the ground for insulting his wife. "I will not have you defile her character with hateful slurs. Now get to your feet. You are not welcome in my house, and never will be."

"She tricked him into giving her his wealth!" Georges ranted, standing unsteadily and staring at Mirela with hatred in his eyes. "Damn Gypsy, she cursed my brother and he fell into an early gave. Mathias was no criminal! It was her! She used her magic on him, the witch!"

"How can you be so sure I won't use it on you!" Mirela said rashly, only to have Rand silence her with a look.

"Rachel, Eli, get this room set to rights," Rand ordered, then urged Georges from the room by merely pointing. He followed the man as he stumbled down the hallway, and prodded him off the porch when he hesitated.

"Your brother was nothing but a common criminal. The last time I checked slavery was illegal in this country," Rand said in a low voice. "If I hear from one single person in Artenay that you journeyed back to Paris through my village, I will find you and choke the rest of the life from you. I suggest you find another route. Oh,and I wouldn't mention to your partners that you ever found Mirela Purram. As far as anyone in Paris should be concerned, she is under my protection, and about one hundred residents of this community would protect her with their lives if I were to command it. Now leave."

"But the will..."

Georges paled as Rand lifted the document in his hands and ripped it in half. "I won't tell you again, you son of a bitch," Rand warned him again. "Leave."

Rand watched the carriage until it rolled off his property, and only then did he turn to find Mirela standing in the doorway, her eyes filled with tears.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, covering her mouth with both hands. "Rand, I never meant for this to happen. I'm sorry."

Rand closed his eyes, trying to force the anger and adrenaline down to a point that he could comfort her without frightening her. He tossed the scraps of paper to the ground and caught her in his arms, his heart filling with relief that she was alright.

"Did he hurt you, Mirela? In any way?" he demanded softly. "I'll find him if he did. I swear it."

"No. You saved me," Mirela murmured against his neck. "I was so afraid for Rachel. I didn't care what he did to me."

His arms tightened around her, and hers around him, until suddenly Rand yelped in pain.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Mirela asked quickly.

"I don't know...something just stabbed me...," Rand muttered, and pushed away from her so he could unbutton his coat and shirt. He was surprised to find flecks of blood littering his torso, and the dying light of sunrise caught the edges of several pieces of glass that were sticking out of his body.

"Rand, you are hurt!" Mirela exclaimed, and immediately helped him remove his shirt. She quickly assessed his injuries, clucking at him like a mother hen until she had him sitting in the kitchen and she was carefully removing the imbeded glass. "You shouldn't have tackled him over a glass table, Rand, honestly!"

"I think he might be...hurt worse than I...," Rand grunted painfully. "I was more concerned for you."

"My hero," she murmured, and when he glanced down at her he was surprised to see sincerity and not a bit of teasing.

"You are my fair maiden," he replied softly, "I would not be a good husband if I did not protect you. And I would rather die myself than let someone hurt you."

Mirela bit her lip as she concentrated on removing the glass and not crying. No one had ever come to her defense as Randolf had. The expression on his face had been one of unmistakable rage, and it had shocked her to the core to realize the depth of his feelings for her. She had felt his love – but God above – she had never seen a man in such a way.

"Mirela?" Rand tipped her face up when he noticed her silent tears. "What is it?"

"I love you, Rand," she whispered as he rubbed her wet cheeks. "Thank you for everything. I don't see how I ever survived without you. I was not living before I met you."

"No?" He smiled, and ignored the pain long enough to kiss her. "Then what were you?"

"I was alone, and I was bitter. I lived in constant fear of...that happening. Of going back to the way things were with Mathias, or never being able to protect myself. That is why I was willing to keep the money. And I'm sorr-"

"You left it behind," Rand interrupted, "didn't you?"

"Yes and no." His eyebrows raised, and she placed a hand protectively over his. "I was still trying to decide if I should come here when that man came to visit me. He was watching us when we were in Paris together. In no uncertain terms I told him that I didn't care. But he said nothing about signing papers!"

"You were right to come here. But why didn't you tell me?" Rand asked gently.

"Your father was ill, Rand. And it didn't seem important once I had made my choice. I knew that it was the right thing to do." Mirela searched his eyes, beseeching him to find the truth within her heart. She hoped that he did not see her actions as betrayal, that he could tell it had not been greed that drove her to want to keep the money – but fear. "I do love you. I'm sorry that I didn't come sooner..."

"Shh," Rand whispered, and placed a kiss on her forehead. "I have always trusted you. Don't ever doubt that. Don't ever doubt my love."

Mirela locked her arms around his neck and Rand returned her embrace, heedless of any pain he might be experiencing.

- -

"How is your beef bourguignon?"

"It's good," Anthony replied, his mouth full of food, a habit his mother had often slapped his head for doing in her presence. "Yours?"

"I've tasted better," Erik answered, though he hadn't actually had beef in probably ten years. He couldn't even remember if he liked it or not, but decided this dish wasn't all that bad, if you ignored the fact that with the addition of a little hide and some hooves, it could have passed for an actual breathing cow.

"Well it was either this or Pochouse. I decided that we both would prefer cow rather than fish stew," Anthony replied dryly.

"Or dog," Erik shuddered.

A piece of meat nearly fell out of Anthony's mouth. "Did you just say dog?" he croaked.

"Hmmm. Or even bat. Never eat bat. It takes forever to get those little wings out of your teeth."

Anthony set his plate away from him and wiped his mouth. "I believe I'm done."

Erik snapped out of his memories of exotic foods on the Asian continent, and realized he had disgusted his dinner companion. "I'm sorry. Susanna begs me not to tell her those things. I forget that just about everyone else would rather not hear them as well."

"Well, I've eaten haggis," Anthony offered proudly. "Anyone who eats that must be strong stomached."

Erik didn't know what haggis was, and decided from Anthony's tone that he really didn't want to find out either. "Well," he finally said, "I believe I'm done as well."

"Too bad the girls aren't finished talking," Anthony muttered, glancing at his watch. "I wonder what's keeping them."

"Knowing Lily she has probably been arguing over the same thing for the last three hours. And knowing Susanna," Erik continued, rolling his eyes as he stood up, "she won't let Lily win the argument. You may as well go back to your hotel, M. Favero. It seems that neither one of us will be seeing them before we retire."

Anthony caught a gleam in Erik's eyes when he said it, and he hid a smile. My foot, he thought. He knew very well that Erik had only paid for two rooms, so unless Lily and Susanna intended to share a bed, then Erik would be meeting up with his fiancée later, even if it was _much_ later.

"Yes, I suppose," Anthony responded, resigned to traveling all the way back to his hotel. Wasn't it enough that he'd kept his word that he wouldn't touch Lily? He couldn't really imagine himself sneaking into her hotel room to ravish her, nor could he imagine Erik allowing him to try.

Ah, well. There was his answer. Even the knowledge of that temptation was enough to get Anthony into trouble. Shaking his head slightly, he bid Erik good night and headed across town.

- -

"So we're set?" Susanna asked Lily.

Lily nodded her head vigorously. "Yes. I think I understand now."

"What do you understand?"

"Men are the devil," Lily replied, keeping a mischievous smile from her lips and maintaining a perfectly innocent expression.

"NO! That isn't what I said!"

Lily collapsed into a fit of giggles, and Susanna soon joined her. Somehow between the talk about Anthony and beginning to organize Erik's music, Susanna had gotten through to Lily, though the outcome was still a bit doubtful. Lily was not trusting, Susanna realized quickly. Not of Anthony, and not of anyone else. Except maybe Erik, whom it seemed she trusted without reserve. The only problem was that Lily could not talk to her brother about love. And Erik would only muddle her brain if he tried to explain anything at all to her on that subject.

"Seriously!" Susanna scolded her. "Erik is likely already upset that I didn't join him for dinner. I really must leave soon."

"Thank you for talking to me," Lily said, wiping her tears of laughter away. "I really do feel better about this now. It's just so confusing! Why does it always need to end in declarations of undying love! Why can't we continue to be friends?"

"Oh, Lily. That's the beauty of love," Susanna said softly. "You will be friends, and so much more. If you just give love a chance, you will see how wonderful it can be."

"Maybe," Lily said reluctantly, and turned back to the mountain of half organized works. "What about all of this?"

"You promised you would keep it secret."

"But what are you going to do with it?" Lily asked persistently, as she had repeatedly ever since Susanna asked her if she could have it.

Susanna hesitated a moment, but decided to share her plans with Lily. After all, the girl had done more than share during the hours they had spent together. Lily had cried and laughed, and in the end it seemed her heart and shoulders carried a lighter load. Susanna only hoped that she wasn't wrong about Anthony, and that neither of them were headed for heartbreak.

"This will be Erik's wedding present," Susanna said quietly. "I've been wondering what I should get him, but now I know. This is perfect."

Lily stared doubtfully at the pages, some of them not finished, and all of them in danger of being just as inflammatory as his opera.

"You'll see," Susanna said with a smile. She lifted up a sheet entitled, _'Lethe'_, and wiped a bit of dust away from the corner. "I promise you, Erik will like it."


	28. Love me in Shadows

For those of you wanting a sneak peek at my new story, you can check it out at Gabrinaland (Everspring Native's forum). I'm going to post a few journal entries there as I work on the basic parts of the story. If you don't want to join then PM me and I'll send them to you directly. Oh, and sorry to disappoint any of you, but Lily won't be getting her freak on for this story. She's a little too emotional, and has been hurt far too much for another bout of premarital sex. If my muse strikes again I might write a long epilogue for Jackson and a steamy scene for Lily, but don't hold me to it, at least not for awhile!

- -

Erik had been asleep in his chair for several minutes when he heard the door creak open. At first he didn't open his eyes, unsure of his surroundings and waiting for his intruder to move, but the soft footsteps and the swish of a gown brought his mind to where he was, and who his silent night visitor might be.

Slowly he opened one eye and saw Susanna toeing off her shoes and trying to move quietly about the room. Oddly she looked just as Lily had earlier – covered in dust from head to toe with all sorts of things clinging to her dress. He shut his eye quickly and feigned a snore when she cast a suspicious glance his way.

When he was certain she no longer watched him he opened his eye again, startled to find her face no more than a foot away from his.

"Gotcha," she murmured, then tapped his nose playfully.

"I was asleep," Erik protested, pretending to be annoyed when he was really delighted that she had finally come back.

"Sure you were," Susanna laughed. "Right up until I turned the knob on that door."

"What were you talking about?" he asked, watching her head drop in exhaustion when the laces to her gown would not cooperate. "Let me."

With an exasperated flounce she knelt on the floor in front of his chair. "Woman things, Erik. It wouldn't interest you."

"It is my estimation that anything coming out of a woman's mouth is interesting," he responded, then bravely met her eye. "Usually because it involves a great deal of nonsense."

"Uh! Don't start acting like a pig-headed man, Erik, or I might begin to treat you like one!" Susanna retorted, giving his arm a good whack.

Offering her an innocent smile, he tugged the laces loose on the front of her bodice, then put his arms around her to unbutton the back of her dress. Erik didn't kiss her, though her mouth was nearly touching his own and her blue eyes were slowly turning into heavy lidded, sultry orbs that turned his own thoughts to seduction.

"You are so beautiful, Susanna," he murmured, holding her gaze as their breaths mingled and blood began to stir.

"As are you, my soon to be husband," Susanna whispered.

Erik's eyes closed for a moment and she brought her hands to his face, kissing him before she removed his mask. The breathe that left his body spoke of the vulnerable side he had tried to ignore all day, but had come unexpectedly during his long evening spent mostly alone. Paris had the strangest ability to make him feel comfortable and uneasy at the same time. In the back of his mind there was always the opera house, waiting to pull him back to the darkness. There was also Christine, whom he finally felt peaceful over, although she probably did not feel the same for him.

"Do you know how many years I begged for someone to stay beside me as I slept beneath these very streets? How much I wanted a home – a family?" he asked, his tone hoarse and thoughts becoming muddled in the past and present.

"I was always there, Erik," Susanna said gently. She touched his cheek, willing away the memories and pain. He opened his eyes when she took his hand and placed it over her heart. "And you were always here. Always."

Susanna watched the emotions play over his face and realized that coming here had been much needed closure for him. His heart was still so very tender, especially now in the midst of his past and pain.

"You were always loved Erik, I'm so sorry for everything," she whispered, her heart breaking when he wiped at his eyes.

"Shhh," Erik murmured. His throat tight, he lowered his head and planted a soft kiss at the corner of her lips. "I didn't mean to bring it up."

"I never mind talking about what troubles you, my love. That's why I'm here."

Erik nodded slightly, but did not wish to open more wounds than necessary. He forced a devilish smile, "And I thought you were here for other reasons."

"Well," Susanna said, "that too."

Erik stared down at her hands as they began to unbutton his shirt, his breathing becoming more pronounced with each passing moment. Capturing her chin in his hand he tilted her face back for a kiss, welcoming the desire and pleasure to replace his feelings of uneasiness within this tragically haunted city. Susanna melted against him, soft and womanly curves pressing against his hard body. He squeezed her waist then pushed her dress down, earning a seductive look from his bride to be.

"You've been drinking," she whispered as he kissed her again, the brandy from his lips making hers burn.

"There was little else to do without you here," he replied, nipping at her throat. "I was beginning to feel lonely. Anthony is not a great dinner companion."

"No?"

"Not especially. You see, if you had joined me, I'm certain that we would have eaten it cold – in bed – and very much undressed," Erik answered, desire growing in the shadows of the hotel. Something about being in a hotel alone with this woman was incredibly erotic. Perhaps it reminded him of his first time. Or perhaps it was the comfort of knowing they were far away from the coming pressure of the wedding or getting caught by someone during one of their frequent romps in the house that would soon be theirs.

"Oh," Susanna half groaned. "Then I am sorry I missed dinner with you."

"You should be," he replied, and led her into the bedroom.

Susanna studied him as clothing was cast aside, admiring his long muscular body; the way his skin had tanned from their many trips to the lake over the summer, and the dusting of black hair that spread along his chest and tapered into the waist of his trousers.

"I wish I could have one sculpture of you – completely nude," she murmured, not realizing she had spoken aloud until he laughed.

"Touche, Madame, but I think I would do a man harm if he ever offered to use you for a model. You will never do so as long as I live," Erik said, taking his shirt and placing it around her back, drawing her against his body. He wrapped his hands in the fabric, creating a tight cocoon of flesh to flesh, then slowly stalked her backwards to the bed.

"Not even your model?" Susanna asked, coyly batting her eyelashes at him, offering a simpering smile. "I would gladly pose for you, Erik."

"Your beauty is mine, and mine alone," he answered, then kissed her hard enough to send them both crashing to the mattress.

Erik caressed her, skillfully stroking her body in just the way he knew that she liked. Susanna returned his caresses, knowing how much a kiss could leave him breathless, especially when she ran her tongue along his lips or gasped into his mouth. He loved to hear her sounds of pleasure, often whispering encouragement for her to voice them louder and louder. Susanna knew that if she kissed his neck he would go mad, but if she really wanted to make him lose control then the sensation of her fingernails against the backs of his thighs would make him groan.

Susanna did all those things, giving him everything and returning words of love each time he would voice them. Her legs locked around his hips as he entered her, nothing between them but heat and air.

Erik whispered her name, wanting to stay joined with her forever - wanting the night to last as long as possible, and knowing that she would want the same. Desire, however, had the strangest pull over the wants and needs of any man.

"I love you," Susanna said, her words vibrating in his ear.

"Not half as much as I love you. Not even half, my beautiful Susanna," Erik replied rocking his hips into hers. He began a slow, lazy rhythm frequently interrupted by tender kisses and caresses.

They could not have been closer in the shadows, lost in their explorations, bold in their desires. Susanna clenched around him, arms tightening, walls contracting as a soft cry of pleasure left her throat. At her climax he deepened his thrust, finding exquisite release with the glorious words of her sated demands.


	29. The First Hint to Love

Lily was so tired after a day of shopping with Madame Giry and Susanna, that she nearly declined Anthony's offer to have dinner immediately after receiving it. The day had been filled with fittings for a wedding gown and five separate trips between La Samaritaine Department Store and Le Bon Marche. Susanna, suddenly indecisive over the purchase of her dining utensils and dishes, had shopped far too extensively in Lily's opinion. The day had taken it's toll on Lily, and she wanted nothing more than a relaxing bath and a quiet dinner alone...until Anthony had arrived with an arresting smile and a bouquet of lilacs.

"Come with me," Anthony insisted, his eyes never leaving hers while his hand held the door to her hotel room open. "Please, Lily."

"My feet...," she complained, but Anthony's smile stopped her protests. He was being sweet and romantic, and the idea of spending a couple of hours unchaperoned in a fine Paris restaurant with the handsome composer was very appealing, despite her screaming heels.

"The night is ours, Lily. We are courting...remember?" he said in a low, possessive voice. The struggle in Lily's eyes gave out when he pressed the flowers into her arms and gave her the briefest kiss possible right in full view of Erik, who was standing behind them.

Lily glanced quickly at her brother and at Susanna who was smiling widely behind Erik's back. "Very well," she replied, "but you may have to carry me if any walking is required.

Anthony escorted her downstairs to a waiting carriage, and Lily allowed herself to fall under his charm. She smiled and nodded politely as he made conversation, not especially feeling talkative but mesmerized by his voice, by the way his hand took hers and held it tenderly. Anthony stared into Lily's eyes during the slow ride to the restaurant, his own reflecting desire even though he did not act on it.

Shown to a semi – private area in the dining room, Lily felt a little nervous in the intimate surroundings. It seemed Anthony's mood was far more serious than he usually was with her, his words uncharacteristically complimentary and seductive, though he did nothing improper - at least not until after they had ordered.

Anthony's foot touched Lily's under the table and she sat up, startled when he did it again, burrowing underneath the folds of her dress until he'd hooked her calf and brought her leg up.

"Anthony! What are you doing!"

"Shhh," he murmured, and guided her foot into his lap. He moved the table cloth aside and removed her shoe, smiling at her when she tried to snatch her leg away from him. "Relax Lily."

"Someone will see you!" she whispered, turning her head left and right, trying to determine if someone already had.

Anthony wrapped his hands around her foot and squeezed once, then watched her melt back into her chair. "You see? There's nothing wrong with this. You said your feet were bothering you. I wouldn't be a gentleman if I didn't alleviate my lady's aches and pains."

Her face turned red at that, and she closed her eyes. Anthony watched her fight the feeling of pleasure, feeling triumphant when she gave in and groaned aloud.

Anthony had dreamed about her again, dreamed of a night of passion with her and a future day of love, and when his eyes had opened that morning the truth of his heart had finally been revealed. He loved her. It was there in the pulsing of his blood whenever she was near, the desire to make her laugh and smile when sadness filled her eyes, and the urge to protect her from anyone who would ever do her harm. He loved her, but he knew that Lily was not yet ready to accept him. Never having romanced a woman before, Anthony was unsure if he could make her fall in love with him, but he was determined to try.

"Give me your other foot, Lily," he urged, smiling tenderly at her when she complied rather quickly. He caressed her sole, her heel, the slight swell of her calf. Lily displayed the most unladylike posture, slumped in her chair with both of her feet in his lap, obediently allowing him to rub her aching feet. Her eyes were closed and the expression of pure abandonment on her face made Anthony's blood stir. He wished to see her abandoning her modesty in a much more basic way, but he knew that for Lily he would wait.

"Music, Monsieur? Madame?"

Anthony released Lily's feet as she shot up in her chair, flushing with embarrassment. He grinned up at the violinist who had approached their table with an approving gleam in his eyes.

"What do you think, my love?" Anthony murmured. "We are in the capital of romance. Would you like to hear something?"

Lily, shocked at his endearment, could only stare at him. My love? He had called her his love? Anthony, instead of signaling to the violinist to play, took the instrument into his own hands. Lily's head tilted back as Anthony stood and positioned the violin on his shoulder and closed his eyes.

His jaw set as he created the first vibrating sound. He let the music take over his mind, though a small part of him remembered the woman, the lady he had set out to woo. Lily was a woman who would need a soul as passionate as her own to show her the power and freedom that love could bring. Duncan Pierce had been nothing more than a foolish infatuation for her, and with every breath he took, Anthony wanted to replace the memory of Duncan's cruelty with a thousand of tenderness and joy.

Sensing movement, he half opened his eyes to see Lily standing before him, her expression one of wonder and her dark eyes damp with tears. He played on, a song inspired by her, a tune that he had dreamed of and hoped could reach into her guarded heart and help him find the key to the treasure inside. The song carried him further away, and yet he knew it was bringing her closer.

_"Beautiful moon, come sleeping down to me,"_ Lily sang, her lovely soprano voice a caress upon his skin.

Anthony exhaled, pleasure coursing through his heart at the beauty of her voice and pride that she recognized the song.

_"Show your faith, angel of blue/My heart guides your way through shadows/Fear never, love like ours is true."_

Anthony ended the song, a long, sweet note that threatened to shatter his heart until he knew what she was thinking. He had not intended for her to sing the words of his heart, but hoped that despite the uncertainty she felt that she would also feel something more.

"That was the most beautiful song I've ever heard," Lily whispered.

Anthony handed the violin back to it's owner and took her hands. Lily was trembling with fright, an insecure and paralyzing fear that he had not wanted to see. She was not ready, and the disappointment he felt was followed swiftly by determination.

"I wrote it for you," Anthony said softly, and kissed her hand. Her eyes flickered away, and he knew that she was going to pull away from him again. To lighten the mood he tapped her nose. "And that was the loveliest voice I've heard in ages, Lily. If it is your desire, you could have all of London eating out of your hand in a matter of months."

Her eyes grew wide. "Do you really think so?"

"I know so," he replied with a grin, then gestured to the other section of the restaurant, where people were staring. "You have serenaded Paris tonight with your beauty. I believe they are captive."

Lily glanced around, startled to see every head in the room turned her way. Her heart was still reeling from the song and the intense longing in Anthony's eyes when she realized that she was standing in a public room full of people with still bare feet and tears on her face. She glanced down at the same time as Anthony, and they both burst out into laughter. Someone murmured something about those 'strange English visitors' and the spell was broken, though the memory would linger in Lily's mind forever.

- -

Anthony renewed his campaign of love when they arrived back in Artenay. Where before they had simply made trips to the village in search of items for Grandmother Talbot, now Anthony whisked Lily away for walks through nature, sharing with her more of his music, a little of his poetry, and telling her about his dreams for the future, which had taken a surprising turn over the summer.

He was determined to let her see into his heart and prayed that she allowed him to do the same. Lily was painfully shy when it came to revealing anything about herself, but Anthony had slowly gotten a glimpse of the real Lily.

She hoped for love but despaired of ever finding someone who could be all the things Duncan had not been. There were days when she wanted to remain independent and other days when she wanted the strength and safety of a man she could trust. Lily feared the darkness of her past made her unworthy of love, or even the hope of it, thoughts Anthony was hell bent on changing.

The summer in Artenay drew to a close, bringing with it the end of their carefree days and the excitement of Erik's wedding. The night before the ceremony Anthony had hoped to surprise Lily with a question. Fatal or not – he had to know her feelings before they returned to London. Anthony feared losing his connection with Lily along with the magic of the atmosphere in Artenay. He wanted to ask her to marry him in the place he first realized that Lily Talbot was not all that she had appeared to be.

- -

This story is finished and has been for awhile, but it's being edited. Your reviews might help though...(crickets chirping)...


	30. A Waiting Man

Lily knew that Anthony was going to ask her to marry him, though his note hadn't precisely indicated that. Lily had felt this coming for weeks now, ever since that night in Paris when he had gazed into her eyes, played the violin and caressed her feet, and kissed her for seven breathless minutes in the middle of the Pont Neuf. From the moment they had arrived in Artenay, he had been unrelentingly romantic, reading his most private thoughts to her from the journal he kept near him at all times.

The note Lily had found on her bed after retiring for the evening seemed innocent enough, but at the bottom of the request to meet him at midnight outside in the gazebo, he'd drawn a small sketch of her with daisies in her hair.

"Oh, Anthony," Lily whispered, her heart squeezing with a combination of tenderness and fear. She moved to the window in her dark room and parted the curtain, able to see the gazebo clearly in the moonlight.

He would be there in an hour, waiting for her answer. Waiting for her to admit her love for him, and release the pressure that had crept upon them both from the moment their lips had first touched.

Lily felt panic set in.

Every time Anthony had kissed her in the last few weeks she had melted against him, wanting more of him, tasting him, surrendering her heart and body yet with a niggle of fear in her mind. Lily loved him, and it was clear how Anthony felt about her, but the fear remained. A constant worry that she was doing the wrong thing, falling for a man in the middle of a summer away from her home and all that was familiar. What if things changed once they returned to London? What if, in the presence of the normal women in society, Anthony realized his mistakein starting a romantic liaison with _Crazy Lily_. He would be ashamed of her though he might not show it, and the humiliation of another broken engagement would be more than Lily could take. She would be alone this time, without Jackson or Erik to protect her, and losing Anthony in that way would destroy her.

She didn't move from that spot near the window until she saw Anthony a half hour later. He was lighting candles in the gazebo, she realized. His form was a shadow in the night, but soon enough candles were lit that she could see his face, that handsome face that had floated through her dreams and daydreams for endless moments over the summer. The face of the man she loved, and the gentle, passionate man who loved her in return.

The fear remained however, that same fear that had pecked away at her confidence even as Anthony struggled to hold it intact. The fear of rejection and having her heart broken. Lily watched him for another half hour, seeing his nervousness as he alternately sat and paced, repeating the same movements over and over again.

She could not tolerate the sight of him waiting for her, but going to him meant either an end or a beginning she was not prepared for. Fighting tears, Lily left her room and padded down the hall to Erik's door. She knocked then poked her head in without waiting for an answer.

"Lily!" Erik scolded as he turned from his closet and took in the sight of her entering his room. "What are you doing here?"

She opened her mouth but didn't answer him, and he glanced at the clock on his beside table - nine fifteen. He stared at his sister for a moment, taking in her red rimmed eyes and her shattered expression. She should have been downstairs with Anthony. She should have been smiling, and not crying.

"What's wrong? Did he...?"

"I can't face him," Lily whispered. "I can't go down there, Erik. I know what he is going to say and I'm not ready yet."

Erik crossed the room and put his arms around her, his heart wrenching in sympathy for them both. Anthony had asked for permission to propose to Lily nearly two weeks ago, privately and keeping his intentions secret from everyone except for Erik. He knew Lily was not betraying Anthony in the way that Christine had done him, but the sting that would result from her refusal to meet with him would be the same.

"Lily, Anthony has been planning this for weeks. You must at least go and talk to him," Erik said gently.

Lily buried her face in his chest and sniffled. "I can't. He's going to ask me to marry him."

"And that's a bad thing? Lily, that man loves you. He deserves more than this. Don't you care for Anthony at all?"

"I love him," she replied, admitting it aloud for the first time.

"Then why aren't you downstairs with him?" Erik asked, utterly confused now. It was the eve of his wedding and he was no closer to understanding the mind of a woman. The thought was vaguely terrifying, considering he would be soon acquiring one, plus Elisabeth, a very tiny woman in the making. Already he could tell from those blue eyes that she would be nothing but trouble.

"I can't," Lily choked out. Erik shook his head at her, and Lily stumbled away from him to the window, frustrated to realize Erik's room faced the street instead of the back lawn. Was Anthony still there waiting? Would he come searching for her, or give up once he determined that she wasn't coming? "I'm not ready to say yes, but I can't tell him no. Oh, why did he have to do this now? Why couldn't we have remained friends a little longer?"

Helpless, Erik stared at her rigid frame, not entirely certain Lily was fighting the right thing. In less than twenty four hours a man who had spent his life alone, who had resigned himself to a life without a mate would be getting married. More than anything he had wanted to love someone, and now it seemed that was the very thing Lily was afraid of.

"You don't have to be afraid of love," Erik told her, his voice gruff with embarrassment. "It is a most precious gift. Not something to fear – something to embrace. Do you trust Anthony?"

"I trust him," Lily said over her shoulder. "It is love that I don't trust. A woman should not throw her future at a man's feet on love. I know. Duncan taught me that."

"No, he didn't," Erik ground out. Lily turned to stare at him, surprised at the anger in his tone. "You didn't love that boy. You might have felt infatuated, and perhaps, God forbid – lust, but that was not love. I've seen the way M. Favero looks at you. The way a man should look at a woman - with respect and love. Do not leave him down there waiting, Lily. It will be the biggest mistake of your life. At least talk to him, tell him how you are feeling. You don't have to make a decision tonight."

Tears spilled across her cheeks, and Erik backed away, appalled that he had raised his voice at her. For a moment it had not been about Lily and Anthony, but about Christine leaving him doggedly waiting for her to decide between her teacher and the Vicomte.

"I'm sorry," Erik muttered, running a hand over his face. "I didn't mean to shout at you. But you shouldn't leave him waiting Lily. You don't understand the pride a man has about such things."

"Tell him I couldn't," Lily whispered tearfully. "Please."

"Me?"

"Please, Erik. Tell him I will speak to him tomorrow. But not tonight. Just not tonight."

Shaking his head with pity for the man about to get his heart broken, Erik headed downstairs.

- -

Anthony stared at Lily's dark window, willing her to come. Had she gotten sick? Had she not seen his note by some strange twist of fate? Or was it as he feared, she was too afraid? There had been moments of passion between them, moments when he knew that she had feelings for him, even if they frightened her. But there also had been those moments when Anthony had been sure of nothing at all, and those glimpses frightened him. He could not imagine a life without Lily's laughter now. He wanted to wake in the mornings with her dark hair spread across his arm, her skin warmed from the combined heat of their bodies beneath the coverlet on a cool Sunday morning.

Lily was over an hour late, and the darkness of the house indicated to Anthony that she wasn't coming. The candles had burned low, providing only a dim scepter of light, barely illuminating the collection of daisy heads on the wooden floor of the gazebo. Anthony waited another ten minutes before he began blowing out the remaining candles and gathering up his book of songs.

With a heavy heart he turned to leave the gazebo and smacked head first into Erik.

"Christ! Do you always sneak up on people?" Anthony said irritably.

Erik readjusted his mask in the darkness, his sympathy momentarily disappearing as pain shot through his cheek. "Do you ever watch where you're going?" he snapped. "If that had been Lily you would have taken her head off."

"And where is your darling sister?" Anthony asked before Erik finished his sentence. "Sleeping?"

"No. She's in my room," Erik replied neutrally. "She isn't coming."

Anthony mouthed a curse, which Erik still managed to identify.

"Did she say why?" he demanded. "Is it because I bore her to tears, because she doesn't like my songs? Is it because I want her to perform?"

"What? No...," Erik replied slowly. "She's just afraid. For Lily, fear is not a familiar emotion. Neither is love."

"She's listening to her head. Not her heart. I can see it every time she looks at me, wondering if I'll humiliate her in a crowd of people."

The words struck close with Erik, and he was silent for several moment, remembering his own humiliation. If Lily's greatest fear was the same as his own, then there was nothing Anthony could do but be patient. That sort of trust in another person only happened with time, or as in Erik's case, after he had hit the bottom of despair and in desperation did not want to be alone forever. He trusted Susanna now, but he knew that trusting her came from a tremendous yearning to find someone to place his trust in. He was glad this time he had found the right person.

"Perhaps you need to do the opposite of what she expects, M. Favero," Erik said, having a sudden urge to sleep so he could finally wake on his wedding day. The problems with Lily would not be resolved in one night, and it certainly wouldn't do for him to fall asleep tomorrow during the ceremony and miss it. "Get some sleep, and I wouldn't mention this tomorrow if you don't want to frighten her off again."

Anthony listened as Erik moved across the yard and reentered the house. A few minutes later, he saw the curtain in Lily's room moved aside. He couldn't see her, but knew very well he was visible in the moonlight. He waited a while longer, hoping she might change her mind and come down.

In the end, there was only the silence of a warm summer night.


	31. I'd Never Kiss a Man's Boots

As a special treat!!! If you are good you can get the ending! Thanks to my beta's, Rappleyea and Forever Phantoms!

--

Erik opened his eyes, and for a few blissful moments he enjoyed the peace of thinking it a day like any other. Morning light annoyingly reminded him that in a few short hours all of France would feel as if were being baked, followed by the thought that he should have married in a cooler month. In a sudden burst of energy he scrambled out of bed – staring stupidly out the window.

"I'm getting married today," Erik said loudly to himself, the words feeling foreign and exciting to his ears.

The tuxedo was hanging in his closet, the rings were sitting on his dresser just as he had left him, and for several agonizing moments he wondered if he might throw up. He stumbled into the water closet and splashed his face and neck with water, hoping that by the time he was prepared to see his bride, the nervousness would have passed.

"Close your eyes and breathe deep."

Erik glanced back at the look of concern on his father's face, which quickly turned to shock as he caught a glimpse of the unmasked side of his son. Erik quickly lifted a hand to cover it, and turned away, the knowledge that this was the first time his father had seen his scars further increasing his anxiety.

"I...ah...was just letting you know that Susanna is down the hall getting ready. You aren't supposed to see her, you know," Colin said hesitantly.

Erik nodded, still covering his face. "What time is it now?" he asked in a raspy, sleep filled voice.

"Seven."

Wonderful. Lily had kept him up half the night, and he had overslept on his wedding day. "The wedding isn't for another four hours. What could she possibly be doing?" Erik grumbled.

"Lily and Emma are pampering her, I do believe," Colin replied, trying to think of something to say to his son. Should he bring this up now? Leave it in the past, or would ignoring Erik's insecurities make them worse? He had never seen anything like Erik's face before, but it didn't repulse him. Nothing about his children ever could.

The reflection of his own face, wrinkled but otherwise normal made him feel guilty enough to look away.

"I didn't mean to startle you. I knocked, but..."

"I know," Erik said shortly. He felt ridiculous holding his hand against his face now, but he didn't know what to think of his father seeing his scars. It made him feel uneasy and strange inside, but mainly he felt a painful sting of love and vulnerability that he wished would ease with these passing moments of revelation to his father.

"I want you to know that I love you, son," Colin said, his voice gruff with embarrassment. "From the moment I knew you existed until now. Nothing could ever change that - not your past, and not your scars."

Erik glanced away even more uncomfortable than he had been, but he removed his hand from his face and allowed his father to look. "I suppose a large part of me will always want to hide. I've been shamed by it for far too long to live without reservation." His gaze cautiously made it's way to Colin's, a pressing need to say the words back but terror diminishing his courage to say them directly. "But it is not unbearable any longer, now that I am around people that I trust...and love."

Colin closed his eyes for a moment, peace settling across his heart at Erik's words. He'd waited so long to hear that from him, so many years of believing he didn't deserve the love of the son he had all but abandoned. If only Jackson were here. "Get dressed, son," he said, affection tightening his throat into a reed thin vessel. He paused a moment at Erik's shoulder and squeezed his upper arm before leaving the room in search of a few moments of much needed privacy.

- -

Lily stayed close to Susanna's side throughout the day, prepared to offer anything that the glowing bride needed. Whether it was a towel, perfume, or a slice of apple, Lily was there to assist her newest family member, both out of concern for the bride's suddenly overemotional personality – and a singular determination to stay out of Anthony Favero's path. She knew it was unavoidable to see him, but watching him from the window last night had been heartbreaking. She'd left Erik's room only to find that Anthony had stayed beneath the gazebo for another two hours, sitting in the darkness alone.

The morning brought regret for her failed courage. She should have gone down there and simply told him that a marriage was impossible. The insecurities that she felt were no match for meager love, no match for whatever tragedy would lay in store for her if she said yes.

However, a nagging doubt...well...not really nagging, but a screaming doubt told her how wrong she was, that Anthony was meant for her, and she for him.

Screaming doubt also went by another name: Grandmother Talbot.

"I swear, child, if a man had waited outside for me for half the night I would kiss his boots for the rest of my life!" Grandmother Talbot declared.

Lily snorted. "You would never kiss a man's boot. I can't imagine you kissing a man's anything."

"Hmph!" The sudden twinkle in Grandmother Talbot's eyes had Emma rapidly clearing her throat. "I've kissed more men than you could shake a stick at, girl, and you'd better believe I'd never kiss a man's boots. But you lost a good man. The best one for you, in my opinion."

"In your esteemed opinion, don't you mean?" Lily asked sweetly. "Because your cleverness is what forced me into the entire courtship."

"Ah, but you didn't have to play along!"

"What's she talking about?" Emma asked, frowning over Susanna's coiffed hairstyle.

Susanna was enjoying the attentions of the maid and Madame Talbot's combined expertise, and tuned out the escalating conversation. She was getting married in two hours, and had not a care in the world except that her two children be on their best behavior today of all days.

"Grandmother Talbot caught Anthony kissing me in the billiards room and threatened to tell Papa!" Lily exclaimed, pointing an accusing finger at her Grandmother, who rolled her eyes.

"As if the entire house didn't know," Grandmother Talbot replied with a chortle. "Even your mother knew. We've known since he marched you behind the inn during the summer festival!"

Lily gasped, staring at her mother. "Mama...I'm so sorry...!"

Emma sent her daughter a level gaze. "It was only a kiss, _right_ Lily?"

"Of course!"

"Then don't fret over a kiss. If there was something more, perhaps it can wait to be revealed until tomorrow...hmmm? There is a wedding underway, remember?"

"There's nothing else," Lily denied emphatically.

"Erik is a good kisser," Susanna suddenly blurted out, but didn't seem to notice until everyone burst into laughter.

"I'll say girl, I do like you!" Grandmother Talbot exclaimed. "I bet you didn't wait until your wedding night either!"

"Grandmother!" Lily and Emma gasped at once.

Susanna blushed and smiled, but said absolutely nothing.

"Oh, go tickle yourself with a feather," Grandmother Talbot replied with a sniff. "_You_ married a man who was born on the wrong side of the blanket, and he's _your_ father. Don't act hoity toity with me."

Lily and Emma stared at one another with wide eyes. "Do you mean Grandfather Talbot wasn't really...?"

"Of course he was! Why, do you think I would have married that man for any other reason? He had one arm and played a cello with his feet! Talk about frightening off our guests! They refused to eat at our house out of fear of Harold breaking into song," Grandmother Talbot paused thoughtfully, "or breaking wind."

"He was rather...musical," Emma laughed, remembering her one meeting with Colin's very boisterous father before his death in the tragic rosebush incident. She couldn't imagine where Colin had inherited his traits, as both of his parents had been rather audacious, but now she knew where Lily got hers.

"Well, one thing is certain," Susanna murmured, glancing at Erik's wedding present across the room, "we all know that my husband will be recognized for his own musical brilliance, very soon."

Lily's eyes misted at the pride and longing in Susanna's voice. Why couldn't she have the same faith in love that Susanna had – or even Erik?


	32. The Union of Two Souls

Emma hovered over Erik as they at last arrived at the church. From the small room off to the side of the chapel, Erik could hear the murmur of the crowd. It sounded like the entire village had come to witness their wedding. Susanna had taken it upon herself to invite everyone who wished to attend, and it seemed as if they had all accepted.

"Are you very nervous, dear?" Emma asked, blinking suspiciously as she had repeatedly since they had been alone together.

"Indeed, Madame," he said, trying not to fidget. Emma had attempted to straighten his cravat twice now with trembling hands and Erik now thought it seemed best to stand as still as possible. His own anxiety was increasing hers, though why she was with him and not Susanna eluded him.

"Daniel is getting rather impatient, and Elisabeth has fallen asleep," Colin announced, stepping through the door. "I think once this is over he will sleep just as soundly as his sister. Rand looks as if he has his hands full, but I don't think he really minds."

"My babies," Emma said with a sniff. "Oh, they grow so fast!"

Colin gave Erik a crooked smile. "I should have warned you about my wife. She becomes rather emotional at weddings. I think it was because her own was such a disappointment."

"Don't say that!" Emma replied, frowning. "My wedding was perfect. It was the groom I didn't like!"

To Erik's surprise, his father only chuckled.

"Go on, you're making him more nervous than he needs to be. Find Henri, he could use the company."

Emma turned cautiously to Erik and raised on her toes, pressing a small kiss to his cheek. "You look very handsome today, Erik," Emma whispered. "You are going to be a wonderful father and husband."

"Thank you Emma," Erik replied softly.

She left them, and Colin stepped into the hall and returned with a black leather portfolio, which he handed to Erik.

"What is this?" Erik asked, staring at the gleaming, smooth cover. His father only smiled, and Erik opened it, his mouth parting in astonishment as his eyes skimmed over notes and staves. The music flowed through him in an instant and he recognized the piece he had written over ten years ago but had not quite finished. But this...this was printed on real composition sheet music...and it had something very bold and daring written at the top. Something the Phantom would have never dared to do.

"_Lethe_, by Erik Talbot," he whispered, reading the title. "But how...where did you get this?"

"Lily and M. Favero," Colin confirmed. "The other piece, _Mnemosyne_, is at the house, awaiting completion. Susanna brought all of your music to me, and I arranged it the best I could. You have over fifty works that require a little polishing before you send them off."

"Off?" Erik repeated, glancing up. "Off where?"

Colin bristled and gestured toward the score. "To wherever they will play your music, of course. I hope that you will consider London, but of course, it may not be in your best interests. You must do whatever you wish as long as you commit yourself to music, which is what you were always meant to do."

Erik smiled at the firm tone of his music teacher and mentor. He had always been reprimanded for dreaming of anything other than music. In that regard his father had never changed. His breath caught at the terrifying thought of pursuing his dream, but he knew that more than anything he wanted to make his father proud of him. At last he understood Jackson's obsession to become something.

"I'll start finishing this first thing next week," he promised, feeling another uncomfortable moment coming on and needing to avoid it. Today was stressful enough – the last thing Erik wanted was to cry before his wedding. "Now go find that reverend. This day has gotten entirely too long."

- -

"There," Mirela said with a smile. "Just the way a bride should look on her wedding day. Erik will be stunned."

Susanna met Mirela and Emma's eyes in the mirror and began to frantically wave a hand near her cheek. "I think I'm going to cry," she choked, blinking to stop any wayward tears that threatened to ruin her clear eyes or redden her nose.

"A bride should not feel ashamed of tears of joy," Emma admonished, and gently pulled Susanna's hand away. "I am going to cry and revel in every moment of it!"

Susanna braved a smile as Mirela readjusted the veil then slowly lowered it over her face. Her hands shook as a bouquet of wildflowers was pressed into her hands.

"May I have a moment alone with the bride?" Henri asked, stepping into the room.

Mirela smiled at her and Emma squeezed her hand, leaving Susanna and her father to the emotional task of saying goodbye once more. Even though she was not leaving geographically, it was still painful for Henri to lose the only companions that he'd had for many, many years.

"You look beautiful, daughter," Henri whispered tightly. "Ah, today has hurt just as much as your first wedding."

"Papa," Susanna cried, throwing her arms around his neck. "I love you! I promise to visit every day and bring the children to see you! I wish...I wish you would move in with us. Won't you at least think about it?"

"No, sweetheart," he replied firmly. "You don't need your doddering old father interfering in your marriage. I'll be close by, as always."

Henri lifted her veil for a moment and pressed a kiss to her damp cheek. Susanna looked so much like Guin - she always had. It hurt more than anything to know the woman he had married had given herself to the darkest sins of her mind. Now, she was hopefully at peace. The summer had taken a toll on Henri. As others had fallen in love and struggled for happiness, Henri had felt only misery and depression, and regret for the time he had wasted mourning the loss of a woman not worth his love.

"I'm proud of you, Susanna," he said softly, "from this day forward you will be Madame Talbot. Are you ready to begin?"

"Yes, Papa," Susanna whispered.

Henri led Susanna holding her hand tightly clasped in the crook of his arm, reluctant to let her go until the last possible moment.

The double doors opened, and down the long candlelit aisle Susanna could see Erik's head snap around. Her father prompted her forward, and Susanna moved in time to the music that soared throughout the church. Her groom waited at the end, an anxious expression on his face until he actually began to walk toward her, breaking with tradition to meet her more than halfway.

Laughter echoed faintly throughout the church at his impatience, but Erik only had eyes for Susanna. The shroud of her veil hid her expression, but she reached for his hand and squeezed tightly.

"You were supposed to wait with the reverend," she whispered.

"I cannot wait another moment."

Erik allowed Henri to say goodbye to her one last time, then he escorted Susanna to the altar, unable to take his eyes off her as the congregation around them sat down and prepared to witness their union. Susanna's lips moved beneath the veil, and he heard her whisper of love just as he felt it in the trembling happiness of her body.

"Love," the reverend began, "is an all encompassing emotion that we all wish to have. With it comes the joy of connecting with another person as powerfully as any feeling you will ever have. When two people love one another as Erik and Susanna do, then God's blessing is only the first step in their journey together. We are here today to take that first step with them, to offer our blessing, and to pray for their future happiness. Please bow your heads in prayer."

From the pew, Lily glanced around the church while everyone else obeyed the reverend's request. She spied Anthony in the back of the church, his own head dutifully lowered, and she felt a start of nervousness. He had briefly met her eyes earlier outside the church, but to her surprise and disappointment, he had not approached her. The coolness of his gaze had made her die inside, and he seemed to dismiss her almost immediately after acknowledging her with a tilt to his head.

Had he already moved on? Was this the appropriate ending to the courtship, done before he made the mistake of claiming her in London where all his friends would surely mock him?

Anthony's head lifted then, and Lily turned quickly back to the front of the church, just in time to see Erik lifting Susanna's veil and kissing her.

Was it over already?

"Ahem," the reverend chuckled, "not yet, Monsieur Talbot."

Erik's smile was only for the blushing bride. "Please continue."

The look on Erik's face brought tears to Lily's eyes. She had avoided weddings for just this reason – seeing other people with this much happiness was depressing. Lily was happy for Erik, but a lurking sensation of depression was in her heart. Beside her Grandmother Talbot began to snore softly, and Lily fought the urge to bolt from the church. Would they all think she was mad if she burst into sudden tears?

"Excuse me," a voice said, and she glanced up to see Anthony making his way down the pew.

Lily's heart seized, panic and exhilaration warring inside her chest as Anthony scooted past Rand Vallee's long legs then sat down right beside her.

Too shocked to say anything, she turned her panicked gaze back to Erik and Susanna. Her brother was again kissing his bride, and the reverend allowed it without comment, though he was smiling.

"Erik, wilt thou have this Woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her..."

Lily's concentration snapped away from the wedding party as Anthony took her hand in his. Her wide eyes met his, the gentle love in his eyes sweeping her breath away. He laced their fingers together and raised her hand to his lips, bringing tears to her eyes once more.

"Marry me," he whispered, leaning towards her slightly.

Lily blinked, thinking her shocked heart was playing tricks on her burning ears. His gaze never left hers as his other hand reached up to caress her cheek.

"What?" she asked through frozen lips.

Several people in the pews around them turned to look, making her flush with embarrassment. She brushed Anthony's hand away from her face and tried to remove hers from his grasp.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled to the curious onlookers, and began to claw at his hand, trying to free herself.

Anthony simply took her other hand in his, and stared steadily into her eyes until she was motionless with distress. He had stayed up all night thinking of what Erik had said...

_"Do the opposite of what she expects..."_

Anthony wasn't sure this was what Erik had meant, and hoped he could forgive him for delaying the ceremony for a few moments, but he had risked his heart on Lily. It was time for her to do the same.

"Marry me, Lily," he said in a voice loud enough to disrupt the reverend's speech.

Every head in the church turned towards them, and Anthony struggled to breathe as he remembered that Colin Talbot was among them. But her father had already given his permission. Perhaps he would understand the lengths that a man might have to go to in order to win Lily's hand.

"Marry me," he repeated, his earnest voice and eyes pleading with her.

"Anthony, you're making a scene!" Lily whispered fiercely, her face burning with embarrassment. "Stop this right now!"

"No. Not until you agree to marry me," he said, his voice raspy with emotion. "I won't take no for an answer."

She struggled to free her hands from his, only succeeding in getting one. Her left hand was still gripped in his when he reached into his pocket and pulled out a star sapphire ring and, without asking, placed it on her finger.

Lily's body went slack against the pew, the struggle leaving her as she stared down at the ring. Anthony's thumb stroked the underside of her wrist as he waited for her to say something – to say anything – as did the rest of the people watching the spectacle.

"Why?" she finally asked, not meeting his eyes. "Why do you want to marry me?"

"Because I love you," he answered softly.

"Anthony..."

"Do you love me?" he asked, needing to know. Lily's eyes lifted to his, the guards normally there lowered and allowing him to see the misery in her heart.

"Yes," she whispered, barely able to speak. The relief that flooded through his face tugged at her heart, and she realized why he had done this now. He had known her fears, and combated them the only way that he knew how.

"Then marry me," he said again, the hint of a smile on his lips. "I will never hurt you."

Maneuvering his long legs between the pews was difficult, but he knelt at her feet and asked her again.

"People will laugh at you because of me. Anthony, please," she begged, "don't do this to yourself."

"I'm not laughing. No one here is laughing," Anthony replied, his tone flecked with anger. "And anyone who dares laugh at you will not be laughing for long. I promise you, Lily. Trust in me."

"If you don't marry him I will," Grandmother Talbot announced loudly, "and I would wager that every woman in this church is thinking the same."

Lily glanced around, seeing many women staring at her and Anthony with dreamy expressions. Even Susanna looked rather starry-eyed, a fact which Erik did not look pleased about. But Anthony was not looking at any of them. Anthony's eyes had not left hers, and with his hand still gripping hers, she could feel the nervous sweat on his palm. She turned back to him, her heart slowing in sudden joy as she allowed his words to settle in.

"You love me?" she asked timidly.

"With all my heart," he answered fiercely.

Lily closed her eyes and reveled in the flow of joy that bounded through her heart. She surrendered to the aching, encompassing love that had been trapped inside her frigid, insecure heart.

"Yes, I will marry you," Lily whispered.

Applause broke out in the church, startling them out of their reverie. Anthony rose from his kneeling position and sat back down beside Lily. He met her eyes, his own suspiciously damp. Lily gave a nervous laugh and kissed him full on the mouth, no doubt shocking her poor mother and doing a number of other things to her father.

Erik watched the scene play out with a mixture of happiness for Lily and irritation at the interruption. Susanna turned to him with laughing eyes, letting him know that she did not really mind the drama that his sister had created with her stubbornness.

"It's about time," Grandmother Talbot grumbled, pleased that all of her hard work had finally paid off. "But for God's sakes, let this one get married before he strangles someone."

Erik started at his grandmother's uncanny choice of words, but quickly turned his attention back to the reverend and his own long awaited marriage.

"Let us continue then," the Reverend said, thinking that surely this was the strangest wedding he had ever performed. Susanna and Erik repeated their vows in turn after the minister, never taking their eyes off of each other.

Once Erik had placed the ring on Susanna's finger, the reverend prayed the final blessing over them and pronounced them man and wife, concluding, "What God hath joined together, let not man put asunder. _Now_, you may kiss the bride."

Susanna was beaming and her eyes shining as Erik leaned down and placed a chaste kiss on her lips. He very softly whispered into her ear, "Tonight, my wife, tonight...," before turning to face their family and friends as Mr. and Mrs. Erik Talbot.


	33. A Happy Ending

_I'm not even sure how many of you remember these characters, LOL, but here is the epilogue for this story. Sorry for the delay - I've been so busy with Leitmotif that I forgot all about it! Don't worry I will still update it tomorrow as scheduled. _

* * *

_Artenay 1876_

Erik's eyes opened as he heard the click of footsteps outside the French doors, followed by the sound of the knob turning. Alert, he stood and moved into the hall, holding Isabel tight against his shoulder. The intruder easily opened the door and entered the room, letting out a muffled curse when the hinge squeaked loudly.

Slowly Erik roused his daughter, murmuring quietly into her ear. "Go to your mother, little kitten. Run upstairs."

"No, Papa," she mumbled, clinging to his neck.

Erik winced, and moved farther away from the sitting room. They had all come to be near Lily since she had gone into labor the day before, and all the Talbots were beneath one roof to welcome the new addition. Susanna was upstairs with Elizabeth and Daniel, exhausted, and Isabel had made herself sick stealing cookies. Erik had brought her downstairs so that Susanna might get some rest, and he knew it would be impossible to take her upstairs without being noticed by their nighttime visitor.

"Yes, Isa, go upstairs," he urged, setting her on the bottom step. He kissed the top of her head and gave her a little push, fearing whoever was in the sitting room would come out at any moment. As long as his family was safe, nothing else mattered. "I'll take you for a ride on Cesar tomorrow if you just go upstairs _now_."

Isabel mumbled sleepily again, but staggered up the stairs. Erik waited, his eyes fixed on the door that the intruder was behind, until he heard Isabel close her door upstairs.

Moving stealthily to the sitting room door, he peered in. The man, who Erik supposed to be a thief, was kneeling near the wall searching through his father's liquor cabinet, again muttering and swearing beneath his breath. Erik could not make out the words, but he smiled slightly. This sot had picked the wrong house to break into. His target never noticed the tall, muscular man stalking toward him. Erik's mask lay on the sofa where Isabel had taken it off earlier, proclaiming in her advanced maturity of four that he shouldn't wear it because it made him look _scary._

A half second before Erik pounced, the man happened to glance up, delight stabbing through him in the same instant his brother knocked him off his feet.

"You'll pay for this," Erik whispered furiously, leaping onto his back. "You should have stayed out of here. There's plenty of liquor at the pub!"

"Mmmfffhhppp...!"

"Exactly," Erik replied.

Erik hooked his arm around the man's throat and proceeded to tighten his hold, wrenching him up and backwards. Suddenly something flashed in Erik's line of sight, followed by a blinding pain as a bottle of port was knocked against his temple.

"Dammit!" Erik roared, stumbling off the man.

"Sweet Christ, Erik! What did they do, put you on guard duty?" Jackson demanded, coughing on the floor.

"J-Jackson?" Erik stumbled to his feet and turned on a light. His brother was still sprawled on the carpet clutching his throat. "What the hell are you doing, sneaking in like that?"

"I was looking for some whiskey," Jackson muttered, finally turning around.

"Papa, why are you yelling?" Isabel whispered from the door.

Startled, Erik stared at his daughter. "You're supposed to be in bed with your mother, Isa," he said sternly.

"I had to...to...," she lowered her voice, glancing suspiciously at the man on the floor, "..._you_ know..."

"You can do that by yourself," Erik reminded her with a frown.

"But it's dark!"

Erik silenced Jackson's chuckle with a look and scooped his daughter up. At the top of the stairs, his father and Anthony stood with equally irritated expressions on their faces.

"Erik, what the devil going on?" Colin asked, rubbing his eyes.

"Jackson has returned," Erik announced calmly before passing Isabel off to a sleepy eyed Susanna.

Immediately the noise in the hall grew so loud that Lily protested weakly from her room where she was resting after giving birth.

"Jackson's here?" Colin gaped.

"Hmmm," Anthony said thoughtfully before returning to his wife's side.

"Move aside," Grandmother Talbot ordered. "I've a thing or two I want to tell that boy. Gallivanting all over God's green earth...," her voice trailed off as she continued down the stairs, ranting about the foolishness of young men.

Colin cleared his throat discreetly and dabbed at his eyes. "I...ah...suppose I will go say hello," he murmured. "Emma was very tired. I think she's still asleep."

Erik and Anthony followed Colin downstairs to where Grandmother Talbot had her cane pointed an inch away from Jackson's smiling face.

"And another thing," she thundered, "you missed your sister's wedding, and now you've missed the birth of her first child!"

The smile slid from Jackson's face. "Lily's married?"

Grandmother Talbot stood up straighter. "I arranged the match myself."

"With whom?" he demanded.

"Anthony."

Jackson chuckled and slapped his leg. "Oh, but that was a good one, Grandmother. Anthony and Lily? Never! Never in my life has my legged been pulled so good!"

"It's true," Anthony broke in from behind Erik. He stepped into the room with a bundle of blankets in his arms, a proud look of fatherhood on his face. "Would you like to meet your nephew, Peter Anthony Favero?"

Looking warily between the adults he had unintentionally roused, Jackson stood and approached his best friend. "You married my sister?" he asked doubtfully.

"It took some convincing," Anthony allowed, "but she finally agreed to it."

Jackson glanced down at the sleeping bundle in Anthony's arms, unnerved by the sight of it. This was the man who'd held his head as he puked, who'd chased after and tried to catch the most flirtatious girls his lucky heart could find. Who'd told him once his sister Lily was a nuisant little brat that needed disciplining.

The baby cried as Jackson disturbed his sleep, and Anthony pulled him away protectively. "I should return him to his mother," he said quietly. "Lily wants to see you, but perhaps tomorrow would be a better time."

"Of course," Jackson murmured, still in a state of shock.

Jackson was still standing there, staring after them when his mother rushed into the room and threw her arms around his neck. "My little boy," Emma whispered tearfully. "I prayed every night for you to come home."

Jackson dropped a kiss on her head, feeling his throat tighten. Dear Lord how he had missed them all! He gave a slight nod to Susanna as she slipped up beside her husband and linked her arm through his. On her hip was the sleepy eyed girl he'd seen earlier. "Did you receive my Christmas gifts?"

"Yes," Emma cried, "but I would have rather had you!"

"Ah, I'm sorry Mama," Jackson said regretfully. "I had to do things my way for once."

"And did you find what you were looking for?" Colin asked, staring at his younger son as if he were an apparition. "That is to say...you are home permanently, Jackson. Right?"

Jackson glanced at his father, but nodded. "I have nowhere else to go for the time being."

"Good," Colin stated, and heartily thumped his back.

"Yes, now you can babysit," Erik said with a tilted smile. "Susanna and I are going to Italy on a delayed honeymoon next month."

"Umm. How many children do you have now?" Jackson asked cautiously.

"Just three," Susanna laughed. "And don't worry, Emma and your father are keeping them."

Erik pulled his wife in front of him and kissed the back of her head. "I wouldn't trust you near my children," he stated.

"You don't trust anyone," Susanna replied, elbowing him in the ribs. Stepping out of her husband's embrace, she gave her brother in law a kiss on the cheek. She stumbled slightly as Erik's arm snaked around her waist and yanked her back against his chest, child and all. "We're happy to have you back, Jackson."

"Happy to have you back," Erik agreed. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a wife and daughter to tuck back into bed."

"Right about that," Grandmother Talbot declared, thumping her cane on the floor. "Don't see why you couldn't have come at a decent hour. Don't you know old women need their sleep?"

"Mother," Colin said, giving Jackson an apologetic look. "Why don't you go check on Lily? Tell her Jackson will be up to see her first thing tomorrow morning."

"Hmph!" Grandmother Talbot raised her chin, thumped her cane, and headed to the door. She stopped, turned, and looked her grandson dead in the eye. "We'll also see about finding you a wife first thing in the morning!"

"A _what_?"

"Wife. Wife. Wife," Grandmother replied crabbily. "A wife. You know, so I can have more grandchildren before I'm dead and gone. I want more babies in my arms, and I want them now!"

Jackson's eyes bulged as he stared after her retreating form. "She isn't serious is she?"

There was no answer but laughter, and Jackson began to regret coming home so soon. A wife? He had traveled the length and breadth of America, visited the crush of New York and the wilds of the west before leasing a small lodge from a rancher in the Montana Territory. He had settled down and poured out several books, becoming well liked by Americans for his easy story telling and the description of life in the west as he saw it.

But a wife? Jackson had avoided women unless absolutely necessary, and by that he meant the sort of necessities a man had to take care of every once in awhile.

A wife remained near the bottom of his list, somewhere between babysitting Erik's children and having his teeth pulled. Still, if his grandmother could tie Lily and Anthony together, then anything was possible.

"Is she serious?" Jackson asked again, this time sharply.

Erik smiled as he led his wife away. "You'll be married by this time next year," he predicted. "Just wait and see."

Jackson felt sweat bead on his upper lip, even as he noticed the look of delight that shone in his mother's eyes. Casting a pleading look to his father, he could not detect sympathy their either.

"Good night son," Colin murmured. After hesitating a moment, Colin put his arms around Jackson and hugged him quickly. "I love you, but if you want to run like hell, I wouldn't blame you."

Startled, Jackson blinked, feeling foolish as tears pricked at his eyes. Caught between wanting to ask, "Do you really love me?" or "I love you too", he didn't quite know how to respond.

"I want to run like hell," Jackson admitted, choked by emotion. "But I'm not going anywhere, not anytime soon."


End file.
